Of Shadows and Secrets
by HamDemon
Summary: Part Two of the Far-Flung Trilogy. Sent to Yokohama to dismantle a dangerous and secretive syndicate of assassins, can Jean and Alessandro accomplish their mission when a blade could be hiding around every turn and behind every smile?
1. Tracker

_Disclaimer: I do not own Gunslinger Girl or its characters, which were taken from the manga series of the same name, all of which are the property of their creator, Yu Aida. Any similarities to actual people, places, or events are purely coincidental._

**Of Shadows and Secrets**

**Chapter 1: Tracker**

Shingo had been a Bikou, a Tracker, for as long as he could remember. It was something one was born into, and to simply know the name of the group that he worked for was either trespassing on grounds to be killed, or a very exclusive honor. Despite the fact that his profession did not receive the proper respect it deserved from the others in the syndicate, he savored every moment of his secretive, shadow-filled life.

On the field, following his targets, he relished the thrill of the "almosts;" almost being spotted, almost being caught, almost being killed. All of these gave Shingo's life a purpose, for if it was constantly on the verge of being lost, then he could truly appreciate his possession of it. Like the other Bikou, Shingo was obsessed with life, specifically the lives of his targets. It was his job, after all, to familiarize themselves with every aspect of a marked person, from the places they go, to the food they eat, and the people they associate with. This, of course, was a very different focus than the assassins of his syndicate, the Hanone, who are constantly fixated on death and how to deal it.

"Shingo," his Mimi, or contact, so to speak, barked at him through his modified black, untraceable cellular phone, "Do you still have the targets in sight?"

"I do," he said secretively, "I'm sending you a picture." He held the phone before him, putting on a perplexed look as if his reception was fading, and snapped a photo of the four people in question, sending it to the person on the other end of the line in a blank text message.

After a pause, the woman's voice came through and said flatly, "I've made a positive I.D. on the targets. The tall, angry-looking blond in the cream suit is Jean Croce, handler of the small blond cyborg codenamed Rico. The smaller, chestnut-haired man in black and red is Alessandro Ricci, handler of the teenaged cyborg Elizabeta Baranovskaya, codenamed Petrushka."

Shingo gave a low, impressed whistled. "So we know quite a bit about them already?" he asked in surprise.

The voice replied plainly, "It is likely that we know more about the girls than they themselves do. No secret can be kept safe indefinitely, especially from us."

"How cautious should I be?" Shingo asked curiously. He always followed his targets as closely as possible. He felt the most alive when he was on the verge of being discovered.

"Extremely," the woman answered, "If you don't mind me saying, I would have preferred a more experienced Bikou be assigned to this mission. I hope you at least understand what an honor it is to be allowed to track our currently greatest threat."

Shingo watched his targets claim their baggage, picking up one duffel bag each. Ricci also picked up a large, cubic metal case which rolled on wheels. They had clearly travelled with as few burdens as possible, and judging by the sizes of the bags, it was unlikely that they had much weaponry.

"They neglected to pack properly," Shingo commented arrogantly.

"Alessandro Ricci is an expert at espionage," the woman warned him, "Information is his most dangerous weapon and Petrushka is his gun. Croce and Rico, however, are both experienced killers. You would do well not to underestimate them."

Shingo ignored the stern speech, following the four subjects out of the granite airport lobby and into the cold, early morning air. The sun hadn't risen yet, but the sky had lightened from what used to be a deep, almost black blue. The Yokohama streets were still lit by neon and streetlights. Even at this time, people (mostly drunks) wandered the streets going from bar, to street vendor, to restroom, to bar. The thought made Shingo's stomach rumble and his throat begged for a drink. He had been waiting in the airport for nearly twelve hours without rest. Now wasn't the time for it, unfortunately, for his targets were currently entering a taxi. He watched Croce, Rico, and Ricci enter the back seats. Shingo caught Petrushka throwing a wink to the taxi driver as she opened the passenger's door to assure him that she would be alright sitting there.

"The targets have boarded Yori's taxi," Shingo reported to the woman.

"Good," she replied, "Follow them."

He obeyed, getting into his plain gray sedan with tinted windows parked nearby. Normally, following a car is hazardous since the shadow has to keep his or her target in sight, oftentimes being forced to disregard street signs and traffic laws. Plus, there is little one can do within a vehicle to mask suspicious behavior. However, because the taxi driver that Shingo was following was a fellow Bikou, keeping track of the targets was as simple as following a moving waypoint on his dashboard GPS.

The taxi wound through brightly lit streets with Shingo occasionally on their tail. At other times he followed using alternate routes to keep himself from lingering for too long on their mirrors. He noticed that the targets seemed to have passed up the most high-end hotels. In his mind, this was their most sensible decision yet, but, he was disappointed when the taxi stopped in front of a large, yet plain complex generally popular among vacationing families. Shingo had hoped that they would have the sense to hide properly. With such a conspicuous location, there was almost no need to have a Bikou on this mission.

He continued to watch silently from across the street where he could see into the lobby and front desk. The four Italians left the taxi (which afterwards pulled around the corner to wait) and made their ways into the hotel. They stopped at the desk where they spoke with a pretty young female receptionist. Following her eyes, Shingo was able to deduce that Ricci was doing most of the talking. Perhaps Croce didn't speak Japanese?

Suddenly remembering, Shingo rolled down his window and fumbled through his glove compartment, producing what looked like a small satellite dish attached to a pistol grip. He put on earphones plugged into the grip and activated the listening device by holding down a trigger. Aiming the cone at his targets, he could hear their conversation. They were speaking Italian, so none of it made sense to him, but he chose to ignore this setback. The only thing that interested him was their room number, so as the receptionist checked her computer for vacancies, Shingo waited and listened to, what was to him, nonsense.

"…could be worse," Alessandro Ricci said to Jean reassuringly, "We could have ended up in Algeria, where neither of us would last a week. I also heard there's a big blizzard over Novgorod, so your brother probably isn't doing too well either."

Somehow picking out the word "Algeria," Shingo spoke into his phone sitting on his dashboard on hands-free mode, "How have the Jackals fared against the invasion over in Algeria?"

The woman on the phone answered uninterestedly, "The _Aruji_ gave Khalid fair warning of Togni's arrival, but as he is travelling by boat I doubt he has landed yet. He will likely reach port by this afternoon. How well Khalid will use the information we gave him, however, is none of our concern."

Shingo turned his attention back to his targets as Jean replied, "I'm not bothered by the weather and at least I know how to speak Russian. I'm at a disadvantage here."

Rico looked about blankly and then tugged at Ricci's sleeve. She said something, but her speaking voice was too quiet for Shingo to pick up with his listening device. What he _could_ hear, however, was when Ricci asked the receptionist the location of the restroom. She pointed down the hall and Rico disappeared from Shingo's line of sight.

"Relax, Jean," Alessandro advised casually, speaking Italian once again, "I know Japanese well enough for both of us. You just focus on doing what you do best, which I assume is killing people."

"_Sumimasen_," the receptionist cut in quietly, "Excuse me, but it would seem that we do have some vacancies. I highly recommend the Family Suite, Room 403."

"Ah," Ricci replied politely, "That sounds excellent."

Shingo put down the listening device in favor of a notepad in which he wrote down the name of the hotel and the room number that was just mentioned. He relayed this information to the Mimi on the phone.

"Good," she replied, "Stick with them for a little longer, though, in case they change their minds."

At this command, Shingo replaced the earphones of the listening device and turned to continue his mission. He stopped however at the sight that greeted him. Rico was standing outside his door, looking at him eerily. Instead of going to the restroom, she had left the hotel from a fire exit and walked around to where Shingo was watching the front desk.

He stared into the girl's hauntingly vague blue eyes for but a moment. It was like looking Death itself in the face. Rather than panic, the corner of Shingo's mouth twitched and curled up. He chuckled lightly at first, and then began to actually laugh, and loudly at that. His eyes were wide with fear…or was it madness? Joy?

"Shingo," the woman on the phone called to him, "Shingo, what's happening?"

The Bikou did not have an opportunity to reply, however, because it was then that Rico wordlessly revealed a pen engraved with the hotel's insignia clenched in her small, childish fist. Without a sound or emotion, she drove this pen into Shingo's throat, silencing him. After this, she reached into the sedan and removed his cellular phone and listening device, concealing both underneath her long jacket. Before returning to her handler, she rolled up her victim's window as far as she could without closing it on her arm. The tinted glass would conceal the body for but a short time.

Rico turned around and crossed the street where the other three were waiting. Alessandro, after seeing that Rico had reached the assassin's car, had suddenly changed his mind, telling the receptionist that he had forgotten to meet some old friends at their place, and hoped to lodge there if they were permitted to.

"Good job, Rico," Jean praised her flatly as she handed him the phone and listening device.

"You don't even have a drop of blood on you!" Petrushka exclaimed in surprise.

"She was too fast," Alessandro chuckled, "But now that that's over with, let's go to the real hotel. I'm tired." The sun was beginning to rise, the sky turning orange and pink. This meant that it would be much easier to spot and identify the four Italians as the city brightened.

"Do you really think they won't find us?" Jean questioned doubtfully.

"Well," Alessandro replied, "Seeing as we basically closed our eyes and picked the place at random, I'd say they would have to do the same to locate it. That's of course assuming we don't do anything to draw attention to it."

"What should we do about the guy in the taxi?" Petra asked.

Jean answered without much thought, "Let him live. Allowing him to report his friend's failure and death should send a message to the entire syndicate."

"What would that be? 'We're here and we're ready to go to war?'" Sandro asked jokingly.

"That's the basic gist of it," Jean replied, as always, in full earnestness.


	2. Home Base

**Chapter 2: Home Base**

Petrushka awoke grudgingly, forcing her body out of bed. Normally, she would get up at around 0500 to go for a quick run, but today for some reason she woke up late at 1000. When she rubbed the sleep out of her eyes this morning she was shocked to find that she wasn't in her dorm room. It was at this time that the activities of the previous night came rushing back to her; the restless plane ride sitting next to a curious baby that kept pulling at her hair and pulling on her cheeks, the airport where she almost got arrested for smuggling a pistol through security (Alessandro managed to smooth-talk her out of that, though), and most of all she remembered the dangerous cat-and-mouse game that they had played with several assassins before finally arriving at the apartment that they had reserved for rent beforehand.

Due to fatigue and lack of sleep, Petra hadn't found anything odd about the apartment before she passed out on the stiff, springy bed. Sandro and Jean's sweep of the place hadn't turned anything up either. However, newly rested, she noticed a plethora of disturbing features of the apartment that had escaped her attention in the moonlight.

First of all, the entire room was filthy. There was dark green mold infesting the corners, dust covered every visible surface (and surely the obscured surfaces as well), and the floor was littered with dead moths and other insects. Petra climbed gingerly out of bed to avoid disturbing Rico who was sleeping next to her on the lonely, twin-size bed in the back of the room, and then tiptoed silently past Jean and Alessandro, both of whom had passed out on the floor. She took a peek through the blinds and saw that the sun was out, but the day was gray, as was typical during November. She then went to the kitchen, where she encountered the second problem of the apartment.

Every piece of furnishing in the room appeared to have been bought in the 70's, but the items in the kitchen were the worst of them all. The appliances were old, outdated, and looked to be clogged with dust and debris. A wave of disgusting, stale air burst out from the refrigerator when Petra examined it. Inside were empty cans of beer, molding slices of unidentifiable meat, and a carton of milk which upon closer inspection had expired the previous month. Petrushka stifled a gag as she returned the milk to the fridge (she didn't want the smell permeating the room) and closed the door.

The third and final horror that the apartment held, though minor compared to the other things mentioned especially due to its singularity, was the fact that the restroom was adjacent to the kitchen (literally three meters away from the fridge). Furthermore, while the door frame still bore the holes from screws that were once imbedded into the wood, there was no actual door to speak of. From the oven, one could clearly see the toilet, and behind that was the shower.

"_Dio mio_," Petrushka despaired under her breath. If she managed to clean the entire room, perhaps it would be easier to bear. Overall it was small, but pleasant with a traditional hardwood-planked floor. The furniture was a bit aged and needed dusting, but collectively it gave the apartment a cozy, homey atmosphere. With a little time maybe she could turn this dump into a habitable place.

Suddenly, there was a lazy movement and light rustling on the other side of the room. Petra turned to see Jean shift around in his sleep. He was still wearing a crinkled white dress shirt, but whether or not he was wearing his navy blue tie was a mystery, as he had his back to her. He was on his side, with one of his arms draped over his side, out of view, while the other acted as a cushion for his head.

For a second Petrushka was afraid that he would wake up. She hadn't spent much time with Jean, for he was rarely paired with Alessandro (perhaps until now the Chief had chosen to respect their differing personalities?). She _did_ know, however, by word of mouth that Jean was notoriously tough, rigid, and grim. Being alone with him in a strange apartment in an even stranger country was a prospect that Petra didn't inwardly relish, and so, relieved that he was not awakened, she let out an audible sigh.

Instantly locating his target by this sudden noise, Jean sat up in a flash, simultaneously drawing his CZ 85B from his shoulder holster under his armpit, and leveling it at the source of the sigh. The tension that took hold of his entire body relaxed, though, when he spotted a frightened Petrushka through his sights. She had instinctively raised her hands, as if being held at gunpoint from behind.

Jean let out a sigh of his own, lowering his weapon. He checked his watch and asked with his usually suspicious tone, "What are you doing?"

Petrushka (seemingly unaware that her hands were still up) stammered, "I-I was just…just…"

Jean's brow narrowed, but before he could question her further, Alessandro and Rico stirred, disturbed by the sudden outburst of activity. "What's going on?" the latter asked sleepily, stretching.

Jean gave Petra another glance, rose slowly (holstering his pistol as he did so) and replied calmly, "Nothing."

* * *

"So," Alessandro said in his typically energetic and casual way, "Where should we start?" The two handlers and their partners had showered one by one (each time making sure to stay out of the kitchen to avoid inadvertently peeping into the exposed bathroom), and had changed into fresh clothes. Jean and Sandro of course wore formal jackets (the former in mustard yellow and the latter in sanguine) with matching ties and bleached un-rumpled white dress shirts.

"This phone is completely empty," Petra answered, browsing through the cellular phone that had been confiscated from the assassin during the previous night, "It looks like they clear the information on their phones after each use." She had picked out a plain denim jacket and jeans. Underneath she wore a deep blue cotton tee that just barely concealed her navel and a black and blue plaid cab driver's cap adorned with several pins that she had collected during her travels.

"In that case it's useless," Jean replied bitterly, "And we have nothing to go on." Next to him Rico busied herself by cleaning her CZ-75 in silence. She preferred not to involve herself with strategies and mission planning procedures. Those types of things were beyond the scope of her mental capabilities and even further beyond her interests. She wore a cream-colored fleece zip-up, jeans, and a sky-blue long-sleeved shirt. As always, she preferred aesthetic simplicity and comfort.

"I wouldn't say we have 'nothing,'" Sandro tried to turn Jean's attention to the possibilities of the bright side, "In cases like this, it's always a matter of digging around a little. I'm sure if we pass some money under a few tables we'll be able to gather some useful information."

"That could also reveal our location to the assassins," Jean retorted, "It would be unsafe to seek information in any way. We have to limit our sources and try to get as much information out of each as possible so we can avoid the risks of seeking others."

"Staying hidden shouldn't be a problem, if that's your main concern," Alessandro said. He pointed at the metal case that he had brought from Italy and explained, "I've brought a small kit that we can use for disguises. It's got makeup and plastic facial features among other things. In any case it will make it difficult to identify us."

"We are the _only_ ones wearing designer suits from Italy. I doubt finding us will be any harder than pointing out the foreign-clothed men wearing sunglasses."

Before Alessandro could comment on Japanese high fashion and the importation of Western styles to the East, Petra piped in. "Wait a minute!" she exclaimed, "There's one number in here that hasn't been erased." She held up the screen of the phone to her handler, who rose immediately in search of a phonebook. He found one eventually, but he quickly realized that it was an edition from the 90's.

"I'll be back soon after I look the number up," Sandro said, putting on a pair of sunglasses and leaving his cyborg alone with Jean and Rico in a strange apartment in an even stranger country.

"Why don't we just call the number?" Petra mused aloud nervously, trying to kill the silence that had taken control of the room in Sandro's absence.

"It could be a direct line to the assassin's contact," Jean answered indifferently, "If we let them know that we're on their tail, they'll run without a doubt."

"Oh," Petrushka replied pathetically, "That's right." She sat stone still for several minutes, very tense and nervous. She was tempted to look at Jean through the corner of her eye, but she was afraid of being caught. The only sound in the room was Rico lubricating the barrel of her pistol, but this was no comfort to Petra.

Conversely, Jean sat on his knees, rigid and austere, breathing subtly and evenly. He stared straight ahead, but he seemed to see through whatever was in front of him, as one does while in deep contemplation.

Petra wriggled uncomfortably. She was unaccustomed to this kind of company. She preferred having Sandro by her side. He was always so loose and calm. Jean, on the other hand…

Thankfully, Alessandro returned, knocking first to establish the fact that it was him, and then entered. "It's a nightclub," he said triumphantly, "The assassin's contact works in a nightclub."

"That was fast," Petra commented, "How did you…?" She stopped, though, when she realized that half-an-hour had passed since her handler had left her alone with Jean. _Where did the time go?_ she wondered in her head.

"What's the name of the club?" Jean asked, making it sound more like a mission obligation than a pursuit of curiosity.

"It's called the _Ichiban_," Sandro replied, "The 'Number One' or 'The Best.' It opens at 2200."

"Should we case the location?" Petra offered.

"No," Jean replied instead, "There's no time. We have to make our move as soon as possible."

"Tonight, then" Sandro suggested, "We're already dressed for the occasion anyway."

Petrushka realized something and said doubtfully, "I don't think we can get Rico admitted into the club," and then, sensing her handler's retort, continued, "No matter how much I flirt."

"In that case," Alessandro said, "Jean, can you think of any way Rico can help?"

Jean took a moment to think. "Well," he said after a few minutes of silence, "She's not afraid of heights…But what about disguises?"

Sandro rose, placed his metal case onto the bed, opened it and rummaged around for a bit, opening pockets, flipping flaps, and unzipping pouches. "How about…" he said, trailing off as he searched. Finally he concluded with a satisfied, "…These!" pulling something out of the case with both hands, he turned to show the items to Jean.

"Alessandro," Jean protested in his reserved, toneless fashion, "I don't even wear hats."

"It doesn't matter," the other handler replied, "If you don't want extensive facial reconstruction, these and a pair of sunglasses should do nicely."

Jean's brow crinkled a bit. He weighed his options in his mind. Finally, after several seconds of internal debate, he relented. "Fine," he said, defeated.

It was then that Rico finally looked up from her work, a look in her eye that would almost indicate an awakening from some kind of trance. She saw the items in Alessandro's hands and then excitedly requested to Jean, "Can I wear one?"


	3. Divided

**Chapter 3: Divided**

Jean's head was itching terribly. He knew the black wig he was wearing was a necessity, but it was bothersome. Still, he found waiting in line to get into a nightclub better than sitting around at the place they had chosen to stay. He couldn't believe it when they had gotten out of the (proper, assassin-less) taxi and climbed the stairs to a dusty, creaking apartment room with a single, dying bulb, a floor littered with dead moths, a kitchen with wheezing, rasping appliances, and a bathroom adjacent to the kitchen without a door. The warm, comfortable decoy hotel from the previous night filled Jean with longing.

Next to him, Alessandro was trying to look as sleazy as possible, wearing reflective sunglasses, with his blood-red jacket open and his arm draped over Petrushka (who wasn't disguised at all). Sandro, as an expert in human behavior, seemed to be able to fit in anywhere with complete comfort, unlike Jean who was generally very stiff and formal.

Petrushka, on the other hand, hadn't quite become a master of disguise yet, but so far she found only one that worked consistently and effectively. When the three of them got to the front of the line, she subtly adjusted the contours of her body to accentuate its curves, making it seem more lithe and malleable, allowed her striking red hair to fall partly over her face, and gave the large, imposing doorman a mischievous, emerald sidelong glance and smile. Immediately, the bouncer motioned for the trio to enter, the metal detector in his hand switched off and unused.

"You're getting good at that," Alessandro chuckled to his cyborg, ruffling her hair playfully.

"It's not that hard," Petra replied, swatting his hand away.

The three agents descended into the club, moving away from the chilly, nocturnal concrete jungle of Yokohama and into the hot, sweaty, dimly lit dance floor. Neon lasers and strobe lights swept across the club at maddening speeds, encouraging the mass of people (the majority of them college age) to throb and bounce together enthusiastically. Above, the starry night sky could be seen through the glass roof. Jean made note of several men visibly patrolling up there, but quickly turned his attention back to the crowd of dancers.

"This is a nightmare!" Alessandro tried yelling over the bass and laughing crowd, voicing Jean's concerns. The three of them would be completely vulnerable as soon as they entered the mob. There would be no way to protect themselves, let alone each other, from a hidden blade in the crowd.

"We should abort the mission," Petrushka suggested, "This is _way_ too risky!"

"This is all we have to go on!" Jean explained, trying to push the team past doubts and fears, "If we leave now, we'll have nothing!"

Instinctively, the trio reached for their concealed weapons to reassure them. Jean felt underneath his jacket, Sandro at the small of his back, and Petrushka squeezed her purse. Ammunition was extremely limited, so they would need to try and avoid a firefight altogether. Plus, there was a high concentration of civilians in the area, giving the SWA operatives further reason to accomplish their mission cleanly and efficiently.

The agents descended onto the dance floor, pushing and nudging past sweating, undulating bodies clad in an overwhelming variety of dress. There was leather, lace, and everything in between; hairstyles of every shape, size, height, and color from plain black to neon green. The two Italian men and single Russian teenager were completely out of place in their designer clothing and neatly trimmed (albeit fake) hair.

As planned, Jean separated from his accomplices, heading towards the disc jockey and his turntable as Sandro and Petra moved to the back of the club where a line of security personnel as large and intimidating as the doorman stood guard. The three agents felt their hearts and guts thrash to the heavy bass line blasting through the amplifiers and speakers throughout the club. From here on out there could be no mistakes.

As Sandro approached the guards, Petrushka squeezed his arm progressively tighter, pressing herself against him more and more. She wasn't sure how they were going to get past them, but her handler showed no signs of stopping or redirecting himself.

As soon as one of the burly men held their hands up to stop the pair, Alessandro reached into his pocket and removed the assassin's confiscated black cell phone, holding it up for the security guards to see. Seeing this, to Petrushka's amazement, the guards immediately made way for them and waved them through. The Fratello entered a dark corridor and as they did so, they felt the music die away along with the noise of the crowd. In the background they could still hear the pandemonium, but it was muffled and overtaken by an ominous half-silence.

Jean watched both of them disappear from view. The flashing strobe lights of the dance floor made it impossible for his eyes to see past the solid wall of shadows in the corridor, so from where he was standing it seemed to swallow Sandro and Petra up like a hungry, stealthy predator. Jean carefully drew his CZ 85B from the holster under his arm, concealing it from view by keeping it between him and the wall. He pulled the slide back gently to make sure his first round was chambered. To his right there was a flight of stairs that led up to the DJ's stand. So far, the mission was going smoothly, but he knew when it became his turn to act, the fire would hit the powder, and at that point there would be no stopping the events that followed.

* * *

Alessandro and a nervous, clingy Petrushka walked cautiously down the dark hallway. So far there was no sign of anyone occupying any of the backrooms, but the fact that there had been personnel guarding the corridor meant something was going on here. They just had to find out what and where this "something" was. After that, they would have to play it by ear, since without the blueprints and layout of the building the two Fratelli really had no way to strategize for this mission. The only thing they knew for sure was that they had to act fast, since they knew that as soon as the assassin's contact realized he had been killed, he (or she) would move out of this location as quickly as possible.

"Hey," Petra said curiously, trying to ease her nerves with conversation, "How did you know to use the assassin's cell phone to get us past the security?"

"It was just a hunch," Sandro admitted, staying alert. It wasn't the first time that he had acted (correctly) on a hunch, but his audacity never ceased to amaze his young protégé.

"What if-" Petra began, but was cut off abruptly.

"Shh," Sandro shushed her curtly and cautiously. A little ways ahead of them, through the darkness Petrushka made out two more guards standing on either side of a door. These guards, however, were different from the ones out on the dance floor. They were clad completely in black, wearing leather biking jackets to conceal the body armor that they were wearing underneath, and were smaller, leaner, and even more rigid than the others. They stood erect and stone-still with extreme discipline and cold, mechanical indifference. There was no mistaking it: these were trained killers.

Sandro and Petra exchanged a glance and silently decided to enact an old strategy that they fondly called "Operation Damsel Distraction." Petrushka acted first, approaching the guards up-front while Alessandro pressed himself against the wall and closed the distance stealthily.

"Oh," Petra said using her very limited and accented Japanese vocabulary, "Finally! Is this the restroom?" She approached the door that the guards were watching over, motioning as if to enter the room. One of them grasped her shoulder and sternly issued commands. She could vaguely understand that if she touched the door, they would cut…_something_ off, but she couldn't quite keep up with their speech. She put on an intimidated, frightened face and offered a very formal apology. "_Moushiwake arimasen_," she said, signaling Alessandro with the usual type of phrase.

Immediately after uttering the words, she twisted the arm of the guard that was gripping her shoulder, dropping an elbow onto the back of his head and allowing him to fall to the floor carelessly.

As the second guard turned and drew a short tantō to drive into Petra's exposed back, Alessandro pounced, wrapping his bicep around his neck and giving a twist which resulted in a sickening _pop!_ and a dead assassin. Rather than dropping him, however, Sandro gently lowered the guard to the floor and drew his Taurus PT1911. He switched the safety off and pressed himself against the wall next to the door. "Ready?" he asked Petrushka.

She repeated her handler's motions with her Taurus PT92, "stacking up" on the opposite side of the door. Although she nodded in silent affirmation, she couldn't shake the feeling that something was wrong. The guards had been dispatched far too easily. How could any Fratello fall victim to assassins like the ones that they had just eliminated? Still, she had to stay focused, for there could be any number of hostiles within the next room, and who knew what tricks they had up their sleeves?

Sandro gave his cyborg the benefit of a countdown to give her time to steady her instincts, which for some reason were screaming for her to turn around and leave the club. "Three…" he whispered intently, "Two…" he reset his grip on his pistol and spread his feet apart in a readying stance, "One!" At this, he pivoted, cocked his leg up into his chest, and sprang it outward squarely into the door, which cracked open violently. He turned away from the door as Petra rushed into the room and immediately followed her.

Right away Petrushka's instincts flared up at the sight that greeted them. The room was empty save for several unmanned laptops and audio recording devices. The walls had maps pinned onto them as well as pictures of Jean, Rico, Alessandro, and herself in various parts of Italy. Petra recognized her Fratello in Caserto, where they had gone on a mission several months ago to find and speak with an informant.

"What is this?" Alessandro asked, expressing the gist of the thoughts racing through his cyborg's head, "Why were they guarding an empty room?"

For several seconds Petra wondered the same thing. However, it all became clear when the sound of a multitude of rushing footsteps reached their ears from down the hall…

* * *

Jean, leaning against a dark corner of the dance floor, checked his watch impatiently. Alessandro and Petrushka had been gone for ten minutes, but the line of bouncers in front of the back corridor entrance showed no sign of having heard any gunshots or screaming. Either they had been killed without making any sort of fuss, or they had simply not found a suitable target. If the former was the case, then Jean would suddenly have much larger problems than trying to gather information. He couldn't return to Italy empty-handed, especially considering that he had only been in Yokohama for a little less than twenty-four hours, but staying here would be certain death.

Jean surveyed the dance floor but found that he still couldn't discern anything that was going on amid the chaos. The lights and lasers were in his eyes and the music was causing a ringing in his ears. Because of this his impatience was mounting.

He forgot all of this, though, when a group of six men pushed their way through the entrance of the club, stopped, and looked slowly left and then right. They were all wearing black, and they all wore sunglasses. Their biker jackets were zipped up to their chins, giving a strong indication that they were hiding things beneath them. Jean gritted his teeth, waiting for the surefire signal that would tell him who these men were. Then, out of nowhere, the signal came. The sluggishly swiveling head of the lead man stopped, and though Jean couldn't see if his eyes were set on him, he simply knew from experience that they were. It also didn't helped when, as a group, the men pushed and forced their way through the crowd in a rush.

Jean moved quickly, rushing up the stairs and onto the DJ's stand. He pushed him aside and ripped the needle from the turntable, stopping the music and consequentially freezing the throbbing mass of dancers as well, who began booing and yelling at him. In response he drew his pistol and fired it into the air, knocking a laser system from the rafters and causing it to come crashing down next to him. Everyone on the dance floor turned and ran as one colossal wave of bodies. The group that had spotted Jean was pulled apart and trampled.

When the dance floor was cleared save for the dazed assassins, Jean took aim and fired, dispatching one of them with a round to his head. He was forced to duck behind the turntable, however, when the rest of them managed to recover and fire upon the stand with machine-pistols. The automatic fire cut through metal and glass, causing shards to both to fall about Jean in a hail of debris.

At this point, there was a commotion on the roof that was inaudible to the combatants within. The guards on the roof were cut down quickly and efficiently. One of them tumbled over the railing and fell through the glass, landing on one of the assassins and breaking his neck. Following the corpse, Rico (wearing a red bob cut) jumped onto the scene, leaping through the gaping hole left behind by the body. On her way down, she fired at the assassins that were attacking her handler. When she landed, several of the fiberglass squares in the floor were destroyed underfoot along with the colored lights beneath those. She dove sideways, transitioning into a roll to avoid the automatic fire now concentrated on her.

With the heat taken off of him, Jean popped up from behind the turntable and fired, eliminating several more of the assassins. With their focuses separated, the hostiles were easily taken care of by the divided and conquering Fratello.

After the entire group had been finished off, Jean joined Rico on the dance floor. Both had holstered their weapons. "We have to leave," he commanded his cyborg.

"Where's Petra?" Rico asked concernedly.

"We can't worry about them now," Jean answered coldly, "Now let's go."

Rico wanted to protest, to go back and look for her friend, but her conditioning wouldn't allow it. Instead she obeyed, as she always did, without questioning Jean's authority. The Fratello rushed out of the abandoned club into the chilly night air and began running.


	4. Conquered

**Chapter 4: Conquered**

Jean, having just sprung a trap that, in hindsight, should have been completely obvious and easily avoided, was on edge and fuming. He and Alessandro had been foolishly careless, neglecting to make even the most basic of preparations before entering enemy territory, and now they were paying the price.

Sandro and Petrushka were M.I.A. and likely dead. Without a backup Fratello, and more importantly without Alessandro, Jean was lost and completely vulnerable in a foreign land with few ways of effectively communicating with the locals for help. He had no control over his situation and was essentially at the mercy of the enemy. His turn was over and now he waited for his opponent's pawns to strike. The best Jean could do was assume a defensive stance and wait for the blow to land. In all likelihood, this blow would be fatal.

Worse yet, Jean was certain that he was being shadowed but he could not obtain visual confirmation. He surmised that the enemy was handing off surveillance from one agent to another, rather than using a single person to follow him, and if this was the case then his Fratello was in even greater peril than he had anticipated. It meant that every stumbling drunk he passed was a watchful enemy, every stall vendor a venomous snake, every alluring woman a bladed trap.

"Rico," Jean gave a low growl to the red-headed girl struggling to keep stride beside him, "Do you see anything suspicious?"

"No, sir," Rico replied almost inaudibly. She glanced over her shoulder, causing her handler to firmly twist her head back forward, slightly displacing her wig.

"You're going to give us away," Jean hissed tensely.

"I'm sorry, sir," Rico apologized vacantly as she readjusted her red bob. Her appearance gave no indication of having been affected by the rebuke, and neither did her psyche. She had become desensitized to criticisms, scolding, and even beatings, thus making Rico more of a weapon than an operative. She had been trained to kill and not much more, so with this in mind Jean decided to be less critical of his cyborg's counter surveillance skills (or lack thereof). However, it was clear that Rico needed some teaching in these matters, though now would be a less than ideal time to train her on the field.

"Just…keep your eyes open," Jean advised simply, "Look out for suspicious people and behavior." Though Rico did not reply, Jean was not concerned. He knew by now that absolutely any order given by him would be obeyed by his partner, often only with implicit affirmation. Besides, Jean had much more pressing concerns at hand. _Was it a left at this street?_ he pondered to himself, _Or a right? Am I even going in the right direction?_

The pair came upon an intersection and stopped before the crosswalk, despite the welcoming green pedestrian light across the street inviting them over. Jean's head swiveled unsurely in all directions, staring at the countless signs dotting storefronts, announcing safety precautions, or simply naming roads. Though the names of the roads were also Romanized, Jean did not find the odd, unfamiliar, sharp syllables any easier to decipher than the pointed crisscross of the _kanji_ characters, each seeming to form cages whose bars were spears piercing from all directions.

Suddenly Rico tugged on Jean's jacket sleeve, interrupting his reverie. She nodded at a vehicle a little down the street, a black unmarked crossover with tinted windows idling at the curb with its engine on. As soon as the cyborg and handler turned their eyes to the car, its high beams flashed momentarily and it began pulling up to them.

As if on a signal, both Jean and Rico drew their weapons and began firing at the advancing vehicle, forcing nearby bystanders to panic and run for cover, heads bent low and bodies hunched over. As the Fratello fired, seeking simply to suppress the threat once they realized that the car's windows were reinforced, they backpedaled down the now empty street that they had come from. The car stopped, but no shots were fired in retaliation.

_What are they doing?!_ Jean thought wildly, _They could easily just run us down._ This was true for there were no barriers between the sidewalk and the street. Not only this, but since all of the noncombatants had evacuated the street, Jean and Rico alone were left as targets for any vehicle and driver seeking to kill.

Handler and cyborg neared a side alley too narrow for any vehicle to pass through. Jean tapped Rico on the shoulder before ducking into the passage and Rico fired off several more rounds at the crossover, hitting the driver's side of the windshield perfectly each time, before following suit. As soon as both were in the alley, the car pulled up to the opening that they had used, barring that side of the passage.

Without the neon signs, traffic lights, and the glow from the friendly, comforting bars and pubs, the alley was dark, grimy, and heavy with silence. One could hear the noise and activity of the night life coming from the outside, as if the alley was a separate room insulated from the rest of the world whose sole inhabitants were Jean and Rico.

The pair passed through the alleyway swiftly but cautiously, both reloading their weapons. "Two mags left," Jean reported.

"One," Rico replied.

"Damn," Jean hissed in frustration, "Pick your shots carefully, I want a tight spread on vital points only."

"Yes, sir," Rico affirmed quietly.

The Fratello emerged from the alleyway into another empty street. They heard the screech of tires as their pursuers left the other side of the alley and continued to hunt them down. In response Jean and Rico rushed into the basement of a building which served as a well-hidden dining location for locals and well-informed travelers. As they entered the restaurant they holstered their guns in their waistbands to avoid causing a stir. Nevertheless, Jean's hand rested on the little bulge under his jacket, even as every diner in the room turned to stare at the two hesitant foreigners.

"Does…" Rico began slowly, looking up at her handler "…Does this place have any other exits?"

"I don't think so," Jean answered, "It's a basement. We should probably just lay low here for now."

"Should we get something to eat?"

Before Jean could give a biting reply, however, he heard a shuffle behind him and felt a presence. He twisted around in time to catch his assailant's wrist as it fell. The assassin was actually the cook or, rather, the cook was an assassin with a chef's knife wrapped tightly in his fist. It was at this point that all of the pieces clicked in Jean's head. The crossover itself was not the trap. Its purpose was to funnel the Fratello to the real danger.

However, Jean didn't let his surprise take his focus away. He struck upward at his opponent's elbow, instantly dislocating the joint as Rico threw in a devastating blow to the man's kidneys. The assassin collapsed in a nauseous heap on the floor and the Fratello, knowing their positions had been compromised, drew their weapons once again. The diners tensed up but remained seated. Several people whimpered, a few began crying, but most of them sat stone still and stared distantly at the handler and his cyborg.

"We have to get out of here," Jean told Rico, despite the high probability of a trap awaiting them outside.

Rico nodded and followed her handler obediently back up the stairs and cautiously out to the still silent, still cold street. The Fratello looked left and right but did not see the crossover waiting for them anywhere, nor was there a gang of armed assassins waiting to pounce upon them. There were simply the wispy ghosts of their frozen breaths in the icy night air.

"Where are they…?" Jean wondered aloud as he and his partner scanned the surrounding area with their weapons raised. They advanced up the street, not knowing exactly where they were going. They moved for the sake of movement, guessing at where the traps lay and where they were safe, like fumbling about in the dark for a light.

Rico asked quietly, "How did they know we would hide in that restaurant?"

"I don't know, Rico," Jean answered tersely. _What's going on?_ he asked himself, _It wasn't hard to figure that we'd duck into that alleyway, but how could they know where we would go after that if the vehicle never regained its visual on us?_

"Jean!" Rico suddenly called urgently, turning around, "The car's back!"

The black, bullet-riddled crossover had reappeared behind the Fratello. It rolled up slowly and again flashed its high beams.

Jean and Rico kept their sights trained on the car as they walked cautiously backwards toward the street corner, hoping to lose their pursuers by finding more alleyways or one-way streets. However, knowing that they were running low on ammunition, both refrained from firing.

Then, the silence of the night was shattered as a grey sedan came careening around the corner and onto the street from behind the Fratello. The tinted windows were rolled down and from them several hands protruded, tightly gripping the same machine-pistols that the assassins from the club had used.

In less than half of a second Jean understood everything. The assassins had _not_ known that they would hide in the restaurant. In fact, thanks to the black crossover, once Jean and Rico had entered the alleyway the assassins had had no clue as to where they were whatsoever. The crossover had successfully funneled the Fratello into the alley and then blocked the entrance so that whoever had been shadowing them before could not follow. The driver of the black car had flashed their high beams twice and kept from firing back at the Fratello as a show of goodwill.

However, none of this mattered now. The assassins in the gray sedan fired upon the exposed handler and his cyborg. Rico wrapped her arms around Jean's waist and took him to the ground, acting as a shield, but her body was too small to protect Jean entirely.

Jean felt a round enter his side, and then felt the warmth of his blood running down and soaking his clothes. He was shocked and disoriented, but felt Rico stand up and heard her return fire; heard the black crossover accelerate and smash into the grey sedan. Car doors opened. There was yelling and a brief exchange of gunfire. And then…silence.

Jean, bleeding out on the sidewalk, his vision blurred and his breathing labored, felt his consciousness leaving him. Before he let himself be claimed by the darkness, however, he felt a soft hand on his face and heard Petrushka's voice calling out in Italian, "He's still alive!"


	5. Allies

**Chapter 5: Allies**

Jean stirred several times during his deep sleep. There was no way for him to tell how much time passed between each near awakening, but he did notice gradual changes in his state. The first time he could recall, Jean was covered in blood, delirious and suffering in the darkness, a horde of hands had been pressing down tightly on him as voices spoke loudly and urgently.

On the second stirring, Jean's head was slightly more lucid. He felt feverish and weak, but the hot, sticky blood had been washed off of him. It was at this time that he caught a few clues concerning his whereabouts. A corrugated metal roof above, and a dirty, ripped, lumpy spring mattress below. Jean could hear the hum of a portable generator, likely powering the dim lights nearby. He heard voices whispering as well, speaking in that unfamiliar, uninterpretable language that he was already coming to hate.

And then he remembered where he was. With this realization, he felt the need to get up, to get moving. He had a mission to complete, an enemy to eliminate, a home to return to. Jean shuddered as he tried to force his weary, wounded body up and into action. However, it was to no avail. His arms trembled with the effort it took to prop him up until they gave way and he fell back against the uncomfortable mattress with sweat dampening his brow. The wound in his side burned intensely.

As Jean passed out from the pain and fatigue, a dark figure stepped over him whose features were impossible to discern from the shadows which fell across its face. The smell of cigarette smoke permeated the air as Jean's eyes closed and he went again to his dreamless slumber…

* * *

Jean groaned as his eyes were assaulted by the tiny streams of sunlight that trickled in through the holes in the dirt that obscured most of the old, dusty windows in the room. He felt relaxed now. Rested. Not worn out and close to death like the last time he had awoken. He experimented with the strength in his arms, pushing himself upright. Thankfully, they held up strongly.

Looking around, Jean was surprised to see that the room he had been sleeping in was not really a room at all. Its boundaries were marked by thin, plastic partitions, almost like shower curtains. Each partition was drawn to give the impression of being safely enclosed by four walls, but above them Jean could see that the rest of the building was comprised of a single, dirty, rusty, dimly lit room. He was in a warehouse.

The sounds of the ocean, of waves and seagulls and buoys, could be heard faintly from inside the warehouse. These sounds, though, were for the most part drowned out by a conversation taking place nearby.

"We are starting to put a dent in our medical supplies," an agitated man's voice came through the plastic screen immediately outside of Jean's "room." He spoke in English. Heavily accented, barely comprehensible English.

Petrushka could be heard responding slowly and calmingly, as if she was speaking to someone who could not understand her so well, "We need Jean alive. My friend, his partner, especially needs him. He can be useful to us. He is highly trained."

"Training amounts to nothing when being hunted by the _Satori_!" The man was getting agitated now and it sounded as if he had had this argument before. He continued gruffly, "You and your friends will be hunted like dogs until you are all dead. You cannot hope to fight against them."

Jean rolled stiffly off of his rusty cot as the quarrel went on, causing the springs of the mattress to groan from the released pressure. However, as he stood shakily on his feet, he felt his still-weak legs give way, causing him to slump back down onto the cot with a creaky crash. Upon hearing this, the argument between Petrushka and the unknown man was cut off abruptly.

Petra parted the partitions and entered Jean's quarters first, followed by a short, stern, balding Japanese man who looked about 50 years old, or so. His back was hunched slightly, but there was strength in his old bones yet; it was the kind of strength attained only from adapting to excessive, life-threatening stress.

"Jean!" Petra gasped as she rushed up to the injured SWA handler and propped him up before he could fall on his back, "You need to conserve your energy. You've been laying in bed for two days and your wounds could still open up."

Despite the fact that his head was spinning, Jean brushed Petra's hands away impatiently. "I'm fine," he snapped insistently. He paid the old stranger no mind.

"It looks like we need to change your bandages soon," Petra advised further, noticing the darkening of the gauze wrapped around Jean's sides.

In response to this, the stranger burst out in an outrage. "No!" he protested, "We have already used enough supplies on this one man, enough to save three lives!"

"Tss," Petra scoffed curtly, "Ornery old man…"

"And just who is this?" Jean questioned coldly, glaring arrogantly into the stranger's eyes.

Petrushka nervously hurried to fill in this gap. "Th-this," she stuttered slightly in English, "Is Itsuki Ken. Itsuki-san, this is Jean."

"I wish I could say this was a pleasure," Jean said, sounding as if he was reading from a prompt, "However it seems that my life is not worth very much to you."

Ken responded with an equal amount of steel in his voice, "Not so. Your life is just not worth the lives of three of my own."

Ignoring this retort, Jean turned back to Petra and asked, "Where is Alessandro?"

"Out. He went to gather some intel."

"And Rico?" Jean consciously mentioned her second to avoid sounding overly concerned.

"Outside, playing with Kokoro."

"Kokoro?" Jean stated inquisitively.

Ken cut in this time, "Kokoro is an orphan child rescued by us several days before you arrived in the country."

"She speaks Italian," Petrushka elaborated as a simple explanation for Rico's interest in her new playmate.

Jean nodded vaguely and decided to backtrack a bit. "So," he said, "Who exactly is 'us'?"

"_Us_," Ken made a point of correcting him, "Not _you_." After seeing that he had gotten a simple eye roll from Petrushka and no reaction whatsoever from Jean, Ken continued, "We are the ones who have been driven underground. The ones who have been made to lurk in the same shadows as the ones who hunt us. We are the ones who have disappeared from the face of the Earth. We are the survivors of _Satori_ hits, and we are your last hope in this world."

"The _Satori…_" Jean mused, "Is the syndicate of assassins that we've been sent after?"

"A _Satori_," a familiar voice reverberated around the spacious warehouse, "Is a Japanese _yōkai_, a demon gifted with the power of telepathy, known to read and recite the thoughts of travelers in order to confuse them, capture them, and then eat them." The voice became increasingly louder and closer until finally Alessandro appeared from behind the plastic partition, dressed in a black suit and red shirt. He had a triumphant, showy smirk on his face and was followed by a silent, gruff-looking Japanese man of around the same age as he. Sandro finished his introduction with a dramatic flourish in his tone, "'_Satori'_ is also the word for 'enlightenment' in Japanese Buddhism; it is a sudden flash of understanding and the first step toward attaining Nirvana."

Jean's glare deepened to express disapproval of Alessandro's showmanship. This did not stop him from grasping at the implied conclusion. "In other words," Jean said, succeeding in omitting all traces of surprise in his voice, "Our enemies are supposedly all-knowing?"

As an answer, Alessandro chuckled despite Jean's cloudy humor, and said to the wounded operative, "I guess that's how they found you in the restaurant the other night, even after we worked so hard to herd you somewhere inconspicuous."

Jean made a mental note of this, but did not voice the fact that he had guessed correctly the night he had been shot. Instead, he chose to ask the more obvious question, "How did you make it out of that nightclub?"

Sandro continued smiling smugly as he answered, "Well, I'm sure you know this already, but the nightclub was a trap. The _Satori _purposefully led us to the club to corner us. They could have remotely fried that phone we picked up on our first night and destroyed all of the information in it whenever they wanted, but they knew we would find the club's number and go to investigate."

"So that means the cell phone is…?"

"That's right," Alessandro nodded, "It's useless. It always was, and actually, it was dangerous for us to keep it in the first place. If we had made it back to the apartment, I'm sure we would have found more assassins waiting for us there after they had pinpointed its location using the phone's tracking device."

Jean shook his head. "That was an amateur mistake. We got greedy."

"Agreed, but the _Satori _made a mistake, too. They didn't expect us to leave their intel room alive, so when Masaru came and ambushed the assassins who were going to ambush _us, _Petra and I managed to catch a glimpse of a few interesting things."

"Wait," Jean said, confused, "Who's Masaru?"

In response, Alessandro turned to the man who had followed him into the room. "Masaru," Sandro said casually, "Let's gather the others. I think Croce-san here could use an introduction. The debriefing can wait."

Jean sighed in frustration…

* * *

Five minutes later, a seemingly random handful of individuals and Rico (who automatically took her place silently at Jean's side) had crammed themselves into the makeshift infirmary and had lined up at the order of the mysterious Masaru. The silent leader dressed himself in a pair of beige dress pants and a black wool trench coat which concealed a customized pair of stainless steel Beretta 92FS's with white ivory grips. The pistols were held loosely in a shoulder rig and two holsters under his armpits. Masaru's face was rough, rugged, and unshaven. Lines were beginning to appear prematurely on his brow and at the corners of his mouth, giving him a stern, tired look.

After his subordinates had lined up, Masaru stepped aside to allow Alessandro to perform the introductions. He started with a young, thin boy, about 12 years old, in a greasy tank top. His dark, slick hair had been tied back in a bandana, and his grease-splotched face was mischievous but kind.

"This," Sandro said to Jean, indicating the boy, "Is Nobu. He acts as the mechanic. He's responsible for keeping the generator running and full of fuel, among other things." The boy, Nobu, hearing that his introduction was over, bowed and nodded slightly to Jean with a slight smile, but did not say anything, so Jean was unsure if he would be able to communicate with the boy or not.

The introductions continued in much the same way as this. In addition to Nobu, there was his fraternal twin sister, Nana, who was the same height and of similar build to her brother, but wore cleaner, looser clothes. She was the group's technician and computer specialist. As data trickled in slowly, however, Nana spent most of her days assisting her brother. Her germaphobic tendencies, though, often conflicted with the tasks that her brother entrusted her with.

After Nana, Alessandro introduced Rio, a tall, spindly woman with a dark, foreboding countenance. Rio was an experienced locksmith who used her knowledge to help the others break into locked areas for a variety of reasons, mostly to steal medical supplies and food. Like, Masaru, Rio kept mostly to herself.

Next in line was Osamu, a strong, imposing man and ex-soldier who served as the muscle in all of the group's operations and excursions into the outside world, especially whenever any of the children were involved. Alessandro made a point to note that although Osamu had been trained well, his experience was limited mainly to retreat strategies, not real combat situations.

Finally, Alessandro reached Ken, and made an introduction vaguely suggesting that Ken had served some kind of leadership role in the past, but his age and the accumulation of stress over the years had put him in the back seat while Masaru drove the group forward. Still, his background as a doctor allowed him to patch up any injuries sustained by his comrades, as long as he was kept supplied by Rio.

"I guess you kind of owe Ken for your life, don't you Jean?" Sandro teased innocently. Jean only grunted as Ken folded his arms in triumph.

"I feel like I'm forgetting something…" Alessandro thought out loud, "Oh, Kokoro!" He motioned for a small girl, not much older than Rico, to come out of the corner of the room, but the girl refused with a shy and vigorous head shake. Sandro continued the introduction anyway. "Kokoro is an orphan. She was picked up by Masaru while they were clearing an abandoned library which was being used as a headquarters for a newly developed _Satori _cell. She says she learned Italian, German, English and a few other languages by reading some of the books left behind there."

Jean nodded impatiently and grunted every now and then until the introductions were over with. Afterwards, he paused and asked the group collectively, "How many of you can speak English?" He almost sighed in relief as everyone raised their hands. But just almost.

"Oh, and before I forget," Alessandro added, "Here. You dropped this." He handed Jean his sidearm. "We're going out tonight to steal some more medical supplies to make up for all the things we used on you. Do you think you're up for it?"

Jean turned his weapon over in his hands a few times, thinking. "Well," he said after a few moments of hesitation, "It may be premature, but…" he racked the slide of his pistol and stood up easily. His legs withstood the test this time, "I've laid in bed for two days. I'm not going to make it three."

"Good," Sandro replied, "I'll debrief you on the way. It's two days overdue, but it's better than not getting debriefed at all," and then he added casually, "I'm glad you're alive, Jean."

"So am I," Jean responded, sounding almost distant, "So am I…"


	6. Trust Exercise

**Chapter 6: Trust Exercise**

Only several hours after getting up and out from his makeshift infirmary, Jean found himself in yet another plastic-partitioned room which served as his quarters in the dilapidated, spacious warehouse; somehow he did not find it odd to be preparing for yet another mission so soon after his recovery. He had no intention of resting at all for the remainder of his time in Japan.

Jean went through his usual pre-mission ritual in a mechanical, efficient fashion, put on a dress shirt saved from the compromised safehouse, put on his solid double-breasted jacket, adjusted his tie, and tugged his cuffs into place. After this, he picked up his sidearm, ejected the magazine, checked the rounds, checked the chamber of the weapon, and then replaced the magazine, turning the safety on and placing the weapon in his shoulder holster under his jacket.

He checked his appearance in a dirty, cracked mirror, making minute adjustments to his jacket, his tie, his sleeves. In the reflection of the mirror he saw a shadow pass across the other side of his room's "wall" as Alessandro entered wearing, to Jean's masked surprise, a sloppy collection of street clothes: a hoodie, jeans, and sneakers, all surprisingly colorful and bright.

After standing at the entrance to Jean's room for a moment, shifting from foot to foot, Alessandro decided to give a vague explanation by saying, "It's not the most sophisticated attire, but it's definitely the most practical given our situation. Here, put this on." He handed a large, bulging plastic bag over to Jean, who looked inside and found a bundle of similar street clothes within.

Seeing the look of detestation on Jean's face, Sandro attempted to convince his colleague to comply. "We're being pursued by a resourceful, highly intelligent syndicate of killers," he explained, "As such, we need to be in camouflage, and that means _not_ walking amongst the colorful Japanese teens in our Caraceni suits."

Jean gave Alessandro one more look of doubt, to which the latter responded with, "I could give you clothes that the kids around here _actually_ wear, instead."

That did the trick. Thinking back to the nightclub in which hundreds of youths had been dressed up in an overwhelming array of fantastic and ridiculous outfits, Jean responded simply by saying, "This will do," as he began to unload the clothes from the plastic bag.

Alessandro smiled and waited outside of Jean's quarters as the latter got out of his suit and into his new streets. With his back to the partition, Sandro called into the room, "You haven't said much since you got up."

He didn't receive a response. _Jean's a proud man_, Sandro thought to himself, _He doesn't want to show confusion. He feels the need to be in command of his situation_. Despite this, he pressed on. "Surely you have some questions…?"

As Jean undid his tie, he quietly decided that he would be foolish to choose ignorance over enlightenment. "Who are these people?" he asked vaguely.

Alessandro inferred "these people" to mean Masaru and his group. "They're as Ken said they were," Sandro replied, "Each of them has been a target of the _Satori_, and each of them has managed to escape assassination."

"Why are they still here? Don't the assassins operate from within Yokohama?"

"Actually," Alessandro had become suddenly uncomfortable and hesitant when being forced to offer the coming revelation to Jean, "Masaru has taught me that the _Satori_ operate throughout all of Japan. Rather than operating as a single group, the _Satori_ is comprised of several branches, each with unique roles. Each branch is in turn split up into dozens of cells that operate within designated territories."

"And who controls these branches? Who issues the orders?" Jean had gotten out of his pleated pants and into his new jeans.

"That has been a matter of some dispute. Some say that each branch is run by a leader figure, and that these figures make up a council that run the entire syndicate as an oligarchy. Others say that each branch works independently of the others and that the local cells are the only connected parts of the syndicate. Others still claim that the whole system is run by a single figure."

"So we know how they work, but not how they're organized," Jean commented to himself. Even with little experience in the art of espionage when compared to Alessandro, Jean easily came to the conclusion that, "The assassins are using counterintelligence to keep us in the dark."

"Precisely," Sandro confirmed, "They have sleeper agents in an unknowable number of places whose purpose is to spread lies and rumors about the syndicate."

"That explains the chef in the restaurant," Jean muttered as he put on his t-shirt, thinking back to the night he had been shot.

"It took years for Masaru and Ken to find out about the _Satori_ branches and cells," Alessandro continued, "But with their help, maybe we can help things move along faster."

"Your friends' appearances were a bit too convenient for my taste," Jean protested flatly, zipping up his hoodie, "I don't trust these people."

"What a coincidence," Alessandro chuckled as he turned and opened the partition again to see the rare and humorous sight of a casually dressed Jean Croce, "They don't trust you either."

* * *

A few minutes later, Jean found himself sitting in the back of a stolen car (to be sure that fuel wasn't an issue, Sandro had said) with his weapon loaded at his hip, poking his still-sore, still-bandaged ribs. Rico had placed herself next to him and was watching the neon stars of Yokohama pass by outside as Alessandro drove and Petrushka bounced lightly in the passenger's seat. Each of them wore dark wigs and street clothes to help hide their identities.

Jean had already lost track of the route back to the abandoned seaside warehouse, but he still tried to keep track of any conspicuous landmarks that would help him find his way back should anything happen during their trip to steal medical supplies from a local pharmacy.

"You were hurt pretty badly," Alessandro reflected to Jean, "But I didn't expect you to go into a coma for two days. It didn't look like you were going to make it at first, but in the end your injury was just a minor setback."

"'_Minor setback_?'" Jean repeated incredulously, "It was our first night in Yokohama and we were ambushed and nearly killed. We could have failed the mission _right there _and now here we are on a completely unrelated errand that won't get us any closer to the _Satoshi, _or whatever they're called. From now on, we're going to be more cautious."

"It's _Satori_," Sandro corrected, "And I understand perfectly, Jean, believe me. I'm with you one hundred percent. We'll do things your way whenever the bullets start flying."

"Good," Jean grunted in monotone.

"_But_," Alessandro continued sounding suddenly firm and serious, "On the field and in camouflage, my word is law." At the sight of Jean's deepening scowl, Sandro decided to risk life and limb by elaborating on this edict, "I understand that as the senior agent in this mission you wanted complete control, however, I must assert the fact that _I_ am the one of us who has the most experience in subterfuge and covert operations."

Jean continued to glare at Alessandro's face through the rearview mirror and prudently pointed out that, "_You_ were the one who developed the plan to infiltrate the nightclub, Ricci."

Without pausing, Sandro humbly conceded to this point by saying, "I know. And I accept the fact that I made a mistake in that case. However, I understand what's at stake now. We're both fighting for the same thing here, Jean, and if you would just forget about your pride and your primacy for a brief moment, you would understand that it would be in our best interest to agree with my proposition." As he spoke, Alessandro kept his tone level and made a special point to respect Jean's point of view. None of the usual cocky machismo was present in his speech.

There was a long silence during which Jean coldly measured up his fellow handler through the mirror. His cyborg sat quietly next to him, seemingly taking no interest in the argument. As always, Rico was unreadable.

Alessandro, on the other hand, gripped the steering wheel tightly and kept his eyes away from his rearview mirror. He felt that if he tried to stare down those metallic blue eyes, he wouldn't be able to handle it and his argument would fall apart. Likewise, Petrushka's body had stiffened in the passenger's seat, and though she kept her head casually propped up with the palm of her hand, it was obvious that she was holding her breath in anticipation of Jean's reply.

After what felt like an age of breathless suspense, Jean relented, much to the surprise of everyone else in the vehicle. "Alright," he said calmly, tonelessly, "I understand." Then, to the shock of the others, Jean added, "I apologize, Alessandro. It was selfish of me to think that I could dictate every aspect of this operation."

Alessandro's jaw had dropped slightly, but when he looked at Jean through the mirror he could detect no sign of regret or humility in his face. It was as perfectly blank as Rico's face. "I…" Sandro trailed off, "…I don't know what to say…"

"Then don't say anything," Jean cut in impatiently, suddenly returning to his former self.

* * *

When the car had finally arrived at a quiet pharmacy on an abandoned street, the quartet started making their final preparations. They checked their magazines and chambers, flipped on their safety switches, and then concealed their sidearms. Afterwards they each made eye contact and gave each other slight nods to signal that their preparations had been complete.

"I still don't like what we're doing here," Jean commented uneasily, "This is almost like Padania work."

"Padania doesn't steal from pharmacies," Sandro responded, "They just blow them up."

"Have you done this before?" Jean asked hopefully.

"Just once while you were out. Masaru and the others try to limit their time outside."

"Should we have taken Rio with us?" It seemed to be Petrushka's turn to express her doubts.

Alessandro replied in a relaxed tone, trying to sooth his companions' worries, "Rio is great at picking locks, but it's not necessary to bring her if I've already got the know-how. Now come on." He got out of the driver's seat, followed soon after by the others and approached the pharmacy which had just been closed for the night. Jean, Rico, and Petrushka gathered in a tight semicircle to conceal Sandro as he picked the lock on the pharmacy's doors.

After five minutes of unsuccessfully fumbling around with the locks, Alessandro's companions were getting nervous. Jean and Petrushka were constantly shifting from foot to foot and Rico's head swiveled about slowly, looking for witnesses and suspicious activity.

"I swear that should've been it," Sandro sighed to himself as he let the pins fall back to their original positions.

"Sandro," Petra said nervously, "Maybe we should move on…"

Her handler dismissed her suggestions impatiently. "We're already here, aren't we?" he asserted, "As soon as I get this door open we'll be in and out in a matter of minutes."

The group fell silent again, save for the clicking of Alessandro's tools inside of the pharmacy door's old lock. Rico watched a lone drunk stumble his way down the street, appearing to ignore the four burglars completely. Petrushka tapped her boot rapidly on the sidewalk.

Finally, Jean leaned down toward Alessandro and whispered coldly, "You need to get that door open in ten seconds or I'm going to open it for you."

Guessing at the meaning to this cryptic threat, Sandro protested, "It takes more than ten seconds to pick a lock outside of the movies, Jean. And besides, what happened to doing covert operations _my_ way?"

"We don't have the luxury of getting detected and simply walking away after paying off the witnesses," Jean responded, "And that means you're endangering the group."

Without answering, Sandro moved his tools more frantically. However, it was to no avail. Ten seconds passed and Jean made a minute signal to Rico, which to anyone else would have been uninterpretable. The signal was enough for Rico, though, who automatically stepped forward, raised her leg, bent her knee, and sprung her leg outward with explosive force. She planted her foot solidly onto the door, causing them to fly inward as the building's alarm went off. Sandro had just enough time to get out of Rico's way while keeping his head covered.

As soon as the doors split open, Rico and Jean walked quickly into the pharmacy and began to load painkillers, bandages, fever medicine, and other useful supplies into handcarts. Alessandro was still a bit stunned, but followed suit once Petrushka shook off the initial surprise and helped her handler do the same. Clearly, trust would be an issue for some time to come…


	7. Those Without Hope

**Chapter 7: Those Without Hope**

The old, foreboding, forgotten warehouse, which was currently serving as a haven for those hunted by the _Satori_, overlooked Tokyo Bay in Yokohama's Daikoku Pier. It was rundown, rusted out, corrugated. Because of this, it was also the subject of many ghost stories started by the refugees' very own Nobu and Nana as a method of keeping away any curious children. If any particularly adventurous individuals neared the warehouse, all it took to drive them away was an incessant rapping on the walls by the refugees. If any outsiders actually ventured inside, the safest contingency plan that Masaru could come up with was to abduct and murder the intruder. Thankfully, it never came to that.

None of the workers or foremen on the Pier paid any attention to the warehouse, just as they had all been told not to soon after being hired. Ken had been a longtime friend of the person in charge of the Yokohama Port Cargo Center building, who loyally kept the safehouse a secret and simply instructed any new pier workers to keep their distance because of its "structural instability." Nobody ever seemed to notice the sound of the humming generator within, or the faint lights that could sometimes be seen from outside. If they _did _notice, however, they were clearly following the implicit advice in the old adage about "loose lips."

Thankfully, Jean, Rico, Alessandro, and Petrushka had all remained grimly tight-lipped since they had fled the scene of the pharmacy burglary. They had been forced to abandon their stolen vehicle before reaching the Yokohama Bay Bridge and then take a taxi (despite Jean's protestations) to the Daikoku Futo parking area where a gang of street racers was having a meet. Alessandro used this as an excuse for the fare, easing Jean's conscience a bit. Fortunately, the taxi driver hadn't asked about the duffel bags filled with pilfered pharmacy goods that his passengers were lugging about.

From the parking area, the quartet walked the rest of the way to the southeast tip of the pier where the ghostly glow of the lamps within welcomed them. The lights would be going off soon, though, as the sky was already going from indigo to dark blue because of the rising sun. The SWA operatives approached the back door of the warehouse and quickly knocked seven times. In response, Nana let them in and the other refugees quickly gathered to meet them.

"Here you go, Masaru. Your supplies." Alessandro grunted in exhausted triumph as he dropped his bag on the nearest table and immediately afterward flopped down onto the ragged and torn sofa in the center of what was basically the makeshift living room of the warehouse. His partner, Petrushka followed suit, but chose to lean timidly against the back of the sofa instead.

As the others rummaged through Sandro and Petra's bags, Jean approached Masaru himself and without a word handed his bag of supplies to the refugee leader. "Thank you…Jean," the latter said as he took the gift. They were the first words that Jean had heard from the man. His voice was deep and gruff, but quiet and awkward, stumbling slightly over the unfamiliar English syllables. Masaru extended his open hand toward his guest.

Rather than respond as courtesy and etiquette would have him, Jean simply took firm hold of the offered hand without any warmth or enthusiasm and nodded with his unreadable blank slate of a face. After this, however, he leaned in and spoke in a discreet and confidential way, making sure he couldn't be overheard by anyone.

Noticing this, Petrushka remarked vaguely to her handler, "Hey, it looks like Jean's up to something over there."

"Well, he _was _silent during most of the trip to the pharmacy and back," Alessandro answered while on his back on the couch. He didn't so much as open his eyes, or tilt his head from where it rested on his palms. "It's obvious he's been thinking or planning _some_thing."

"Like what?"

"No clue. Now let me sleep." Sandro rolled over, signaling the end of the conversation. It had been a long night for each of them.

Petra watched passively as Jean released Masaru's hand and walked with him to a different section of the warehouse for a private chat. She turned to Rico, who, rather than accompanying her handler as she normally would, instead had been told not to follow. "Rico," Petra asked, "Where's Jean going?"

"I don't know," Rico responded cheerfully and unconcerned. She then went off to find Kokoro with not a care in the world, leaving the uneasy Petrushka, alone and inexplicably unable to sleep, with nobody to turn to.

* * *

After listening to Jean's proposition, Masaru wordlessly produced a pack of cigarettes from his jacket, took one, and let it hang loosely between his lips. He offered another to Jean, who took one and held it to his lips as Masaru lit it with his zippo, gold-inlaid with three lilies of the valley.

After lighting his own cigarette, Masaru took a slow, deep drag and breathed the smoke out tiredly through his nose. He turned his lighter over in his hands, inspecting it as if planning out his response to the still-waiting Jean. Finally, Masaru said simply, "A gift from my wife," as he held the zippo up for Jean to see. "Sec…second…anni…versary." His mouth struggled to form the words.

Jean waited patiently without interrupting as Masaru pointed one at a time to each golden lily on the lighter and said, "Haruko…Natsuko…Akiko."

"Your children." Jean stated flatly. Old, faded images began to appear in his head. I beautiful young girl alone in an empty house. Cooking alone. Eating alone. The girl received several phone calls which she answered enthusiastically with "_Babbo_!" and "_Mamma_!" but each call left her sad and disappointed. She went out to play soccer. Alone, except for Folgore, their dalmatian.

"_Hai_," Masaru answered, shaking his head and looking down at the floor. His tangled hair and unshaven face gave him a look of weary resignation, something that Jean hoped he was misreading.

"Why did the _Satori _go after you?" Jean shook off his reminiscence and set his original proposal to the side for now. He sought to learn more about his host, hoping to find something in his past to prop him up with.

"I was…" Masaru answered, "…Assassin."

"For the _Satori_?"

Masaru shook his head tiredly. "_Chigau…_" he pointed to himself as he looked for the correct term, "…Freelance."

Jean took another drag from his cigarette. It was getting short now. He blew the smoke and tried to piece together Masaru's story, "So you were a contract killer? Did the _Satori_ start hunting you because you were their competition?"

Again Masaru shook his head. "_Satori…_sometimes hire freelance. For small work."

"Did they hire you?"

"_Hai…_but they ask of me too much…to keep their secrets."

Jean decided not to go too in depth, for fear of touching upon an untouchable subject. Instead he asked, "Did your family know?"

"No…they could not have predicted."

Sensing that the time for personal history had ended, Jean put out his cigarette and returned to the original matter. "So," he concluded, "Even though the _Satori_ murdered your wife and children, you have no desire to take revenge?"

Masaru replied simply, "Spilt water…will not return to tray. Spilling blood…will not return my family."

Jean did not understand. To him, vengeance was something that _must _be taken at all costs, and it was a thirst that had to constantly be quenched. Every terrorist he killed was vengeance to him. Every dead bomb-maker a retribution brought forth from the ghosts of his family. For a man _not _to go and seek out the ones who have wronged him was…disgusting.

"The _Satori_," Masaru continued, "Will win if we fight. They are everywhere. They know everything. There is no hope for us."

"Masaru," Jean persisted, getting firmer, "These assassins always have the element of surprise on their side. We are the only ones whose whereabouts and activities are unknown to them, meaning that if we fought back, then _we_ would be the ones surprising _them_."

Still, Masaru would not give in. "The _Satori_ is…a demon. The _Mimi _and _Manako _will find us, the _Bikou _will hunt us, and the_ Hanone_ will kill us."

Jean did his best to remain calm and patient, but the tension was starting to become audible in his voice. "What about Kokoro?" he asked, "You rescued her while taking down a _Satori_ safehouse, didn't you?"

"Our raids," Masaru explained, "Are rare, and only done when necessary. Never any more."

It was Jean's turn to shake his head. "You would just turn a blind eye to the deaths of your loved ones so that you can live a full life?" He was outraged.

"No!" Masaru protested sharply, his words coming more rapidly with his mounting anger, "We do this for the children. Nana, Nobu, Kokoro. They have no future. The _Satori_ stole their future. If they grow, maybe they will be forgotten and can live."

"We both know that won't happen," Jean said coldly, "We'll all be hunted until we're dead. The _Satori_ are professionals. They don't let their prey go."

"Then there is no hope for us, Jean," Masaru responded with bitter resignation.

The two fell silent for a moment, both frustrated at hitting this wall that seemed insurmountable. Jean suddenly wished he still had his cigarette, but he didn't want to ask for another one. Finally he closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and began again in a calm tone similar to the one he used to apologize to Ricci, "Would you rather die in the shadows, stealing your food and essentials like a pack of rats? Don't you at least want to die like a man? Fighting like a human being should?"

Masaru took the smoldering stub, which was all that remained of his cigarette, from his mouth, dropped it, and then crushed it with his boot. He, too, had relaxed himself and seemed to finally be considering everything that Jean had said. "Do you truly believe," Masaru asked slowly, beginning to reconsider his stance, "That we can win if we fight?"

Jean smirked and responded, "Masaru, you are a former assassin who keeps his company with a 12-year-old mechanic, a 12-year-old computer prodigy, a professional locksmith, an ex-soldier, and a doctor. Not only that, but now you have four Italian spec-ops on your team, two of which are cybernetically enhanced children capable of near superhuman feats. I don't believe victory will come easily, but I also don't believe in giving up when such resources are at your disposal. As we say in my country, _chi la dura la vince_. Those who persevere win at last."

Masaru allowed first a small smile to appear at the corners of his mouth, which quickly transformed into a good-natured laugh. He stood up and clasped hands with Jean once more. "Thank you, Jean," he said.

Jean replied, "Your family will find peace. I promise." He thought he saw tears forming at the corners of Masaru's eyes, but then he blinked and they were gone.


	8. Trolling for Trouble

**Chapter 8: Trolling for Trouble**

Petrushka wasn't wearing her disguise tonight. She felt vulnerable walking around the quiet streets, knowing that the _Satori_ had eyes everywhere in Yokohama. She might as well have been naked. Thankfully she had brought her Taurus with her, though she didn't think it would be of much use to her if she ended up with a knife stuck in her side. Just the thought of this was enough to get her to look around nervously. She caught a glimpse of a black-haired head as it disappeared around the corner behind her. Petra snapped her head back forward as she felt a cold chill run up her spine. She absolutely _hated_ being assigned the role of bait.

It had only been three days since Jean and Masaru had announced their ultimatum to the rest of the refugees; they would either hunt or be hunted. The reactions were mixed. The twins Nana and Nobu were stunned into fearful silence. Ken and Osamu protested bitterly that their leader had been swayed into taking such foolhardy action by a _gaijin._ Rio and, surprisingly, Kokoro, were silent but unreadable, unlike the twins whose faces clearly told a tale of past scars left behind by the coldhearted and calculated operations of the _Satori_.

On the other hand, the other SWA operatives reacted predictably. Rico didn't voice a word of protest or support, but was glad to be able to be of some use to her beloved handler. Alessandro hadn't been all that surprised. He knew Jean was a man of action. Sandro also knew that Jean always got what he wanted. Petrushka herself responded to the announcement in a similar, almost bored fashion, showing just how much of an effect Sandro's tutelage had had on her.

At the moment, however, Petra suddenly felt regret at the fact that she hadn't spoken up about her opinions sooner. Consequently, she was being dangled in the assassin-infested water by the others tonight, and she knew they could smell the bait. She clutched her purse tight to her side, feeling the reassuring bulge of her sidearm jabbing at her ribs. Her hands were cold and clammy without her handler beside her. Petrushka wasn't accustomed to the lack of support.

Her immediate concern were the _Manako_, or the eyes of the _Satori_. The _Mimi _were intelligence agents and the _Bikou _were only deployed to track targets whose whereabouts were known, so despite the fact that both of these branches of the _Satori_ used firearms to defend themselves, Petrushka didn't think she would be running into either group. The _Manako, _on the other hand, were the sleeper agents; people with normal, boring jobs who spied and spread lies for their syndicate. The chef that had nearly stabbed Jean in the underground restaurant had been a _Manako_, and Petrushka was certain that if Jean could be found by wild chance, then she would be found if she actually sought them out. Even worse was the fact that the number of _Manako_ was impossible to estimate, as was the number of legitimate establishments that they had infiltrated.

However, if the performance of the chef that Jean had encountered was any indication, it was obvious that the _Manako_ were not trained as the designated killers of their group. Therefore, Petrushka wasn't too concerned about the prospect of fighting one_. _If she was spotted by one, though, and he or she decided to report Petra's location to the _Hanone_, then she would have little choice but to attempt to evade contact.

Although none of the refugees, including Masaru, had ever encountered a _Hanone_ face to face, it was clear that they posed a great threat. Jean and Rico were the only ones who had come into contact with the true assassins of the _Satori_. The attempt on their lives in Italy ended in failure, but only by sheer coincidence, when one of the assassins inadvertently alerted the Fratello to their presence. Several other Fratelli before them, though, had successfully been assassinated in close quarters. Judging by the ability of the _Hanone_ to infiltrate a safehouse and conceal their presence without leaving a trace, it was clear that these particular agents were required to undergo rigorous and demanding training. As for a straight-up fight, well, Petrushka preferred to play it safe this time around and try to avoid that.

Truth be told, she wasn't really looking for _any _sort of fight, despite her aimless wandering out on the street sans disguise. Her only goal was to reveal the whereabouts of a _Satori _agent. The others would take care of the rest. She looked about once more, and once more she spotted the black-haired head, this time behind a rack of sunglasses at a late-night store.

Refocusing on the path ahead, Petra's heart skipped a beat when she saw that she was entering a busier street, filled with insomniac pleasure-seekers and possibly the odd assassin here or there. She clutched her purse closer to her side and scanned the crowd just as Sandro had taught her. However, her skills so far were limited to picking out Republican extremists, not Japanese killers. She swallowed hard and tensed up as she began to pass through a thick group of people.

The group made some way for her passing, but even the slightest brush against her shoulder caused Petrushka's heart rate to jump up. She avoided reaching into her bag and clutching her Taurus for reassurance in order to minimize the attention that an obviously lost foreign girl would receive in an area of the city populated mostly by locals. Petra breathed heavily. She swallowed again. Her hands were beginning to shake, but she was approaching the back of the crowd now. Just a few more steps…

Without warning, she was bumped full-on by a passerby, his hand held low, tightly gripping a short object which he pressed into Petrushka's side. She heard the ripping of her purse as it split open, felt the tip of the knife pushing against the other side, prodding at her ribcage. The knife stopped short. It had been caught by the trigger guard of Petra's sidearm.

Thinking quickly, she jerked her purse away and jumped backwards, knocking her way through the wall of the crowd and simultaneously tearing the stuck knife out of the assassin's hand. Petrushka gave a shrill scream, sounding exactly like a lost, frightened teenage tourist, "_Tasukete!_ Help! He's trying to kill me!"

Everyone in the crowd stopped and looked first at the hysterical girl and then at the stunned-looking assassin at whom she was brandishing a trembling, accusing finger. When some of the bystanders saw the knife lying at their feet, they immediately took hold of the attacker before he could flee and began beating him senselessly.

Given the opportunity to breathe, Petra searched the street and saw the black-haired head again, its diminutive owner approaching her and the mob on fleet feet. Petrushka gave the wigged Rico a nod as she closed in on the chaotic scene. In a wordless response, Rico plunged into the punching and kicking mass of people, grabbed the bloodied, would-be assassin by the collar, and tossed him into a nearby alleyway, hidden out of sight by a pile of garbage bags. The crowd saw him disappear around the corner and let him go, assuming he had had enough and decided to drag his sorry injured self back to whatever hole he had crawled out of. Nobody noticed the eleven-year-old girl in their midst, and as the crowd turned their attention back to Petrushka, Rico slipped into the alley to secure the prisoner.

Petrushka responded to the overwhelming concerns of the men in the crowd, feigning bashfulness in order to gain their sympathies. "_Hai_," she said in mock sheepishness, "_Daijoubu_ _desu_. I'm alright." She managed to make herself blush as she added, "Everyone, thank you for your help!" As she began to depart from the scene, she politely refused the offers of the uncomfortably interested crowd to walk her back to her hotel room. _Maybe I'm playing this up a bit too much_, Petra thought to herself nervously.

* * *

When Petrushka and Rico returned to home base, transporting the prisoner in a stolen unmarked van that the refugees had procured for their permanent use, they stashed the assassin in a dark corner of the warehouse and met with Jean and Alessandro to be debriefed.

"You did good work tonight, girls," Sandro praised them, "That could have been a real mess, but you both handled yourselves just fine."

"Couldn't you have been out there backing me up?" Petra questioned her handler in a semi-serious way, "Instead of just sitting in the van with Jean and waiting for something to happen?"

Alessandro laughed and said, "You were in good hands." He threw a wink at Rico (who tilted her head and blinked curiously) and continued, "The fewer of us out there at once, the better. Since you and Rico are the strongest and fastest it only makes sense for us to deploy you together."

Petra rolled her eyes and mumbled, "They call you 'handlers' for a reason, don't they?"

Alessandro ignored this statement (it didn't warrant a response anyway) and asked Jean, "Do you have any plans for the prisoner?"

"Rico and I will pay him a visit in the morning," Jean answered, "Right now he's barely conscious, so it would be best to let him rest for a while before we try to get any information from him."

Sandro nodded, turned to his partner and said, "Jean and I will go check on the assassin and his restraints one last time before turning in for the night. You two," he looked first at Petra and then at Rico, "Should get some rest." After this, he went off with Jean to make sure the _Satori_ agent wouldn't be able to get up and murder the refugees while they slept.

Petra gave a weary sigh and fell back onto her cot as Rico gave her CZ-75 one more look-over before going to bed. "Rico?" Petrushka murmured inquisitively to the girl next to her.

"Yes?" came the sweet reply.

"Don't you ever get bothered by the fact that Jean never praises you?"

Rico thought about this for a second before answering. "Jean praises me a lot," she contradicted her friend with a smile, "Not always, but he still compliments me every now and then."

Petra turned over to face Rico. There was nothing but truth in her blue eyes. Not even a hint of pain or bitterness, despite the coldness with which Jean treated his cyborg. Petrushka closed her eyes, giving up. She was sure it was Rico's conditioning that was talking right now and not the girl before her. Still, she couldn't imagine having someone like Jean for a handler. Someone who treated her as if she was less than human. She wondered if, deep down inside, Rico's heart was bleeding.

"Well," Petra said with genuine gratitude as she turned over once again, "I'm glad you were with me tonight. Thanks for your help, Rico."

Rico paused as she was unaccustomed to, what was to her, seemingly unwarranted displays of recognition. She was only following Jean's orders, something she never expected, or even asked, to be compensated for. She only wanted to be useful to Jean, and wanted nothing more. Still, she recognized the fact that she had helped a friend. "You're welcome!" she chirped cheerfully, after which her attention returned to her weapon.

Suddenly, the plastic flaps of the girls' room flew apart as Jean himself entered wearing a deeper scowl than usual. Petrushka sat up as Jean questioned the cyborgs. "What was the prisoner's condition when he came here?"

"I-I don't know…" Petra stammered in confusion, thinking back to several minutes ago when she and Rico had thrown the semi-conscious assassin out of the back of the van, "He was a little worse for wear…but he seemed to be healthy enough."

"Did the mob hurt him badly?" Jean pressed further.

"N-No, I don't think so. They roughed him up just enough to teach him a lesson." Suddenly, Petrushka realized that there was something unnatural about Jean's questioning. She asked cautiously, "Why? What's happened?"

As Jean turned away to leave the room, he gave the girls one last backward glance as he announced simply and grimly, "He's dead."


	9. Vow of Silence

**Chapter 9: Vow of Silence**

Petrushka and Rico followed closely behind Jean, who was still quite flustered and in a state of restless agitation, to the corner of the warehouse in which they had stowed their prisoner less than an hour before. Upon hearing the news of the would-be assassin's unexpected and heretofore unexplained death, Petrushka searched through all of her memories of the past few hours examining even the smallest of details in an attempt to come up with an explanation, the most logical and immediate being the pummeling that the prisoner had received at the hands of the mob of bystanders. This theory, however, proved inadequate, for Petra distinctly recalled her attacker having merely superficial wounds, cuts, and bruises, similar to the injuries one would sustain in a drunken bar brawl. She racked her brain for more information, perhaps a factor that had remained unaccounted for until now, but could not find a single satisfactory answer.

Now at the point of grasping at straws, Petra turned to Rico and asked, "Rico, you weren't tossing the prisoner around too hard, were you?"

Rico tilted her head in a puzzled fashion and answered with a simple, innocent, "No…"

Petrushka thought not. "Well," she persisted despite her mounting doubts and confusion, "Did he cut himself on something when he fell into the alleyway?"

Again Rico tilted her head (but in the opposite direction this time) and answered thoughtfully, "Nooo…" She dragged the word out as if her mind were still working on the response as it was being vocalized.

Petrushka frowned and thought to herself, _Something must have gone wrong during the mission, something that I'm missing. Otherwise…,_ an idea occurred to her just then, an explanation that was completely logical and absolutely plausible, even probable, however, she quickly shook the idea out of her head, thinking, _No, it can't be…his hands were bound the whole time. How could he have_…?

Her reverie was interrupted, though, when the trio arrived in the prisoner's quarters. There, Alessandro and Masaru had already spent some time examining the assassin's corpse, and though the latter stood directly between the entrance and the deceased detainee, Petra could see the lifeless legs of the prisoner, still tied to the legs of the chair in which he been left sitting.

After Alessandro looked up from his close examination, however, Masaru turned and revealed the rest of the corpse. His head was hung so that in order to view his face, one had to either move his head, or crouch beside him and look up into it (which was the position in which Jean and the two cyborgs had found Alessandro before he noticed them come in). The prisoner's hands were also still tied behind him with heavy and coarse rope, just as Petra had recalled earlier.

"Then how in the world…?" Petrushka muttered to herself pensively.

The unvoiced question which hung unformed on her lips, however, was answered almost immediately by Sandro. "Jean," he said almost jovially upon witnessing the entrance of his colleague, "You left in too much of a hurry. I should've caught up with you and told you that there would have been no point in questioning the girls." They spoke in English, for Masaru's sake.

"And why is that?" Jean growled, frustrated at being left in the dark.

"Because after taking a closer look, it's quite obvious now how this man," Sandro motioned towards the corpse unceremoniously, "Managed to take his own life."

Petrushka gave a start and, unable to conceal her shock, exclaimed, "I knew it!"

Sandro chuckled lightly and replied, "I thought you'd figure it out. It looks like I'm rubbing off on you after all."

Ignoring this facetious remark, Petra then asked the question that had been on her mind ever since the concept of suicide had entered it. "But…how?" she murmured in quiet bewilderment.

In response, Alessandro grasped the corpse by the hair and raised his head to reveal a morbidly bloated, purple face. The assassin's eyes were bulging and looked as if they were on the verge of bursting. Partially-coagulated blood trickled viscously from the corners of his mouth. His death had clearly been violent and most likely painful, but the most telling piece of evidence was an abnormal bulge in his violet throat.

"This man," Sandro began explaining with a tinge of theatrical flair in his voice, like that of a particularly clever detective who has just solved a particularly confounding case, "Somehow managed to bite off his own tongue…and then choke himself to death with it." He paused before revealing this final revelation in order to give his audience another moment to hold their breaths.

As always, however, Jean shattered Alessandro's fantastical display with his deadpan face and cold reaction. He approached the corpse, examining it with a scowling detachment and even something skirting around loathing. "Did we get anything useful out of him before he…" Jean paused in search of a suitably efficient word to match his tone, "…expired?"

"Well…" Alessandro began answering hesitantly, "…no. Remember, we threw his phone away before loading him into the van. We didn't want to risk taking it and being tracked down again. Other than that, nobody had a chance to talk to him before _this_ happened." He nodded at the body with a slight grimace on his face.

"Why swallow his tongue, though?" Petra asked in disgust, "Was he making a statement?" (She and Sandro sensed the irony of these questions at the same time. Seeing the look on the latter's face, Petrushka rolled her eyes silently).

"The _Satori _are brainwashed individuals," Masaru interjected, "They blindly follow the faith of their brotherhood. Each man and woman would prefer death to defection."

"He's right," Sandro added, "The grunts, the people on the street doing the dirty work, are almost fanatics. They have to be if the higher echelon of the syndicate wants to control them. It's likely that the leaders (or leader) of the _Satori _hide behind a veil of mysticism, using their most trusted agents to spread legends and superstitions about them in order to keep the lower ranks in devout awe."

"That means," Masaru elaborated, "If we are to learn anything about the _Satori, _it must be from someone in a higher position."

"But right now that's impossible," Petra cut in, "We don't know _any_thing about how the group functions. All we know is that they're split up into independent cells scattered throughout Japan. As for their resources, chain of command, and method for issuing orders, we're in the dark."

Alessandro thought about this and then asked Masaru, "How did the _Satori _contact you when you put in work for them?"  
Masaru replied in his usually slow and calm way, "They gave me a phone. The same as the others. When they needed me, I would receive a call."

"Was it always the same person who called you?" Alessandro's mind was working now that he had a potential lead.

"Yes. A woman."

"How did you refer to her?"

"I did not. She would call, give me the location of a…a dead drop, and then hang up."

This caught Petrushka's attention, just as her handler had latched onto the topic in the beginning. "How many different locations did they use for these drops?"

Masaru answered, "The location was different each time."

"It wouldn't help us much to search these places, anyway," Alessandro commented, "A dead drop can take place almost anywhere. One man tosses a Chinese takeout box on top of a dumpster, another man picks it up, and a hitman has just been paid. Of course, if we knew the signal that initiates the pickup we'd be in business, but like the location of the drops, I'm guessing the signals…"

"…Were different each time," Masaru concluded, affirming Alessandro's suspicion.

"And using the wrong signal in the middle of a dead drop could get us into serious trouble…" Petra pondered aloud.

"We should forget about getting anything from the operatives at this point," Jean suggested, still orbiting the corpse in his examination, "They're clever. One way or another they'll find a way to screw up our plans to interrogate them. Besides that, bringing a _Satori _agent here is a risk every time."

"You may be right," Alessandro hesitated to agree with such a bleak prediction, but he saw that this time Jean wasn't thinking with his gun, "In that case, what do you think we should do now?"

Jean replied without pause (and still without taking his eyes off of the corpse), "Now we head out ourselves. Find informants and ask them questions. If they don't give us the answers, then we'll just take the answers by force."

"Oh…" Sandro mumbled and deflated a bit. _Now_ Jean was thinking with his gun. "Well, information costs money, and our funds won't be able to buy us enough of it. Not for _this_ enemy. The _Satori _leaders will have taken every precaution to ensure that they're untouchable."

Masaru saved them at this point by saying, "Rio will be able to collect money for us. She has many skills as a thief."

"I don't think I want to know the details," Sandro responded, "But please have her do that. In the meantime we'll also need some more surveillance devices like the one Rico took off of the first _Bikou_."

"We'll need weapons, too," Petrushka added, "And maybe an internet connection."

"We can use the connection of the Port Cargo Center," Masaru said, "But Nana's skills would be put to better use if she had better equipment."

"It's going to take a while to get all of that together," Alessandro said after going over the checklist in his head, "How much do you think Rio can get us by the time we get everything?"

Masaru replied with a curt and ambiguous, "Enough."

Sandro and Petra exchanged an approving nod with one another and afterwards, the former turned to Jean and asked, "Well? Do you think we'll need anything else? Jean?"

However, Jean payed no attention as he seemed to be transfixed by something on the dead assassin's body. He leaned in close from behind the corpse and gently picked something off of its collar. Holding the object up to the light, Jean realized that he was holding a hair, long, black and shining. It was far too long to have belonged to the assassin.

Rico, who had been standing a short ways off, had been silently watching her handler work. She immediately saw the look of suspicion and cold curiosity on Jean's face and when Rico noticed the fine hair in between Jean's fingers, she herself was taken by a childish curiosity. She wasn't sure what significance the hair held, but she had the feeling that it was important.

Suddenly, a chill ran down her spine and Rico was immediately shaken out of her thoughts. She looked about the room and noticed that the entrance flap was parted slightly. Through the crack, she saw the small face of Kokoro. In her eyes was a striking, indescribable look. Something dark and foreboding.

Rico's glimpse lasted for only an instant before Kokoro turned away and disappeared into the shadows. Nobody else seemed to notice the little girl peaking through the partition and when Rico turned back to Jean, he had dropped the hair, his expression once again unreadable.


	10. The Cowboy

**Chapter 10: The Cowboy**

After losing their first and greatest hope for quickly finding the _Satori_, each of the refugees, including the four SWA operatives, were seized by a tireless fervor and worked without reprieve in order to continue their war. At times it felt as if they were all just marching closer to danger and doom, but everyone knew that they had little choice but to continue forward, regardless of what lay ahead.

Osamu and Rio, for example, went out frequently and would return hours later with bags full of money. No explanations were given and no questions were asked. Meanwhile, Jean, Alessandro and their respective cyborgs made trips into the city in search of the necessary supplies. The computer equipment was their top priority; within two days they had set Nana up with an adequate system. She immediately immersed herself day and night in the net, probing chat rooms and cautiously exchanging rumors about the _Satori_ with conspiracy-theorists and paranoid shut-ins (Nana and Nobu referred to the latter as "_hikikomori_"). Most of the information they managed to dig up was suspect but they couldn't afford to dismiss everything and risk throwing away valuable knowledge.

With a working internet connection and a steady source of data, Jean and Alessandro next turned their focus toward collecting surveillance equipment. Binoculars were simple to find, as were earpieces to help the operatives keep in touch in the field, but remote listening devices were a bit more challenging. Thankfully, Masaru was able to modify some stolen cell phones to serve the purpose of conventional bugs. With this done, all that was left to collect were the weapons, a task more easily said than done…

* * *

Masaru led Jean, Alessandro, Rico, and Petrushka (all properly adorned with wigs and painted with makeup) through a winding labyrinth of back-alleys and semi-abandoned buildings in the heart of Yokohama, where outlaws and vagabonds gathered in order to find warmth and company. Surprisingly, the group of five attracted no more attention from the scruffy inhabitants of the streets than a rat or insect would. This, however, was the only indication that they were going in the right direction. Jean and Alessandro only continued to follow Masaru because they trusted his experience as a former assassin and collector of illegal firearms.

Because Japanese gun control laws were so strict, the refugees could not simply find a gun shop to break into and clean out the way they did with local pharmacies. They also could not go through the long, intensive process of applying for the legal possession of hunting shotguns. Because of this, everyone agreed early on that the best way to gain possession of the necessary firearms was to circumvent the system by visiting less-than-legal firearms salesmen. Thankfully, as Yokohama was a port city, Masaru knew of a few Filipino pirates and American smugglers who were more than happy to stop by and regularly open shop to give fellow criminals access to their fatal goods.

The process of finding these pirates and smugglers, though, was itself only slightly less arduous than going through the process of legally obtaining a license. Understandably, the merchants wished to keep themselves and their wares difficult to find. Predictably, they took into account the difficulties of concealing their establishments when writing their price tags (though they would never admit this and would instead usually attribute the inflated prices to the exaggerated quality of the weapons). For this reason, Masaru and his four companions each toted small briefcases filled with money; everyone was free to make their own purchases, but if it became necessary to pool their funds together, they would still be able to do so.

The group stopped outside of a rundown building which could have matched the description of any one of a hundred other buildings in Yokohama. No lights shone from within and at first glance the building (which once served as an office complex) looked to be abandoned. However, a well-hidden flight of stairs at the rear of the building descended into the lower levels and at the base of the stairs stood an old, rusty metal door. Faint lights danced underneath the crack of the door like the light of a paper lantern. Masaru turned to his followers, raised his eyebrows inquisitively, and asked, "Are you ready?"

Alessandro and Petrushka nodded silently, whereas Jean and Rico merely remained silent. After this, all five began their descent. Upon reaching the door, Masaru knocked several times. The metal clanged at the touch of his knuckles like an empty oil drum. There was a pause. While Masaru appeared calm and relaxed, the SWA operatives tensed up, not quite sure what to expect.

Finally, after a full, silent minute, the door opened a crack while emitting a rasping squeak. Through the crack, a rough, unshaven, suspicious face peered at the group waiting outside. Masaru calmly opened his briefcase, making sure not to startle the observer with any sudden movements, and revealed the contents to the man. Jean, Rico, Sandro and Petra followed suit, and almost immediately the door guard stepped aside and allowed the five wealthy visitors to pass through into the black market.

To the four Italians, the sights that greeted them beyond the iron door were unfamiliar and almost overwhelming. The entire first basement level had been gutted out and filled with stalls manned by dozens of merchants bellowing and advertising their goods to countless passersby. At first, the setup looked simply like an underground market where one would find cheap souvenirs and brand-named knockoffs. Upon closer inspection, one found that, first of all, nothing in the market was any cheaper than 400,000 yen. Second, just as nothing was cheap, there was also nothing legal for sale.

"Looks like there'll always be a way around the law," Alessandro noted facetiously as his mind processed the trading floor on which drugs, weapons, and even people were being bought and sold.

"Let's take some time to look around," Jean suggested, "And meet back here in twenty minutes."

The others agreed and separated into three groups; Masaru went alone while Sandro and Jean took their respective cyborgs along with them. As they browsed the stalls, each noted the variations of quality and sophistication among the smugglers. Some sold "bargain-priced weapons" which had obviously been used on previous occasions and been left in poorly-maintained conditions. Others were in the business of unique weaponry. Toy pistols converted into two-shot sidearms, instrument cases which stored weapons and doubled as firearms themselves, and blades disguised as a variety of household items were among the list of odd wares. Finally, in the back of the market and watched over by heavily-armed guards was a group of covered stalls wherein the seasoned smugglers and gun runners offered military grade weaponry fresh off the assembly line. Unfortunately, the quality of the virgin guns also contributed to their prices.

Jean examined a SIG Sauer carbine priced at 2,500,000 yen (the American stall owner and three assault-rifle toting pirates kept him under close watch). He had about 15,000,000 yen stuffed inside of his small case. _Not a very reasonable price_, Jean thought to himself, _But it's affordable for us. We wouldn't have been able to move too many guns onto the street, anyway_. Satisfied with the rifle, he also picked out a Benelli shotgun, three sidearms, and four combat knives.

As he approached the stall owner with his purchases, Jean noticed the guards behind the counter move their fingers from the trigger guards to the triggers. He laid each of the guns out on the table, at which point the owner gave a low whistle and an ivory-white toothy smile. "Not many people walk outta here armed like _this_," the stall owner remarked with a faint drawl, "Why, I'm tempted to give you a discount for buying in bulk!" He threw his head back and laughed heartily, his broad shoulders shook with his hard, wide belly.

Jean didn't react to this, but instead turned his head to see Rico shouldering a Russian VKS sniper rifle, staring down the sights and feeling the weight of the weapon in her hands. He then turned back to the stall owner, who was grinning expectantly. "How about we throw in that sniper rifle for free and call it a night instead?" Jean offered, straight-faced and business-like.

There was a noticeable reduction in the American's grin and while he still kept up a slight smirk, his eyes locked unwaveringly onto Jean's. There was a slight moment of silence as both men sized each other up and then, without any of his previous warmth and amicability, the American said, "You really mean business, don'tcha?" When Jean didn't answer, the stall owner continued, "'Round here people take offense if they think they're bein' taken for a ride." From the corners of Jean's eyes he could see the guards on both of his sides tense up.

"But," the stall owner said suddenly, his good humor returning, "We're both _gaijin _here, my friend. So maybe we ain't from the same corners of the world. When a man comes across somebody just as lost in a foreign land as they are, ya can't help but feel a little closer to 'em, y'know? I can tell you're a straight shootin', no-nonsense man and I respect that. If you'll go half price on the rifle, then you've got yourself a deal." He reached his hand out and chuckled some more. Jean hesitated for a second before he took the hand and shook it firmly.

"Name's Robert, by the way," the American said jovially, "But my friends call me Bobby."

"Jean," Jean responded without reciprocal emotion.

"Where're ya from, John? Germany?"

Ignoring Robert's slight mispronunciation, Jean lied, "France."

"Not much of a talker, are ya?" Robert laughed, "Still, ya don't sound like much of a Frenchman to me, John."

"My mother was from Spain."

Robert nodded thoughtfully, but fully satisfied with the excuses. "Well," he said "Looks like everything's in order. I'll throw in a little ammunition for you, free of charge." He then proceeded to stuff the weapons and several boxes of ammunition into a large luggage carrier, zipping it up and pushing it across the counter for his customer to take a hold of.

Jean took the bag and made for the exit of the stall with Rico in tow when Robert stopped them. "Y'know," he said, as if just remembering something at the last minute, "Seems like this little hive of a city has been buzzing a little more than usual. Some rumors about a group of European agents going up against the infamous _Satori_'ve been floating around. You know about the _Satori_, John?"

The Fratello remained silent. Rico stared at Robert curiously but Jean didn't so much as give him a backward glance. Robert continued slyly, "Anyway, they say some of these European agents are kids. Now ain't that just the craziest thing you ever heard?"

After a pause, Jean finally turned and responded simply, "The world's an odd place these days."

Robert nodded vaguely and looked the Fratello up and down before asking, "This your daughter, John?" He made a little gesture with his chin toward Rico who was still standing and staring.

"Sister," Jean replied with a steely growl. He felt an ambush coming on…

But it never came. Instead, Robert took a small card from his pocket and offered it to his customer. "My business card," Robert explained, "I'll be in Yokohama for a few weeks. Call me up if ya ever need to spend some cash, or if you need help with…something."

Jean got the message and took the card with only slight hesitation, but continued to remain aloof. "We won't be here long," he continued to lie, "I was just hired by the local yakuza to do some wetwork. I'll be heading back to France afterwards."

Robert whistled and with genuine curiosity asked, "The yakuza, huh? Which family are we talking about here?"

Without an answer, Jean faltered for the first time in the confrontation. Seeing this, Robert laughed loudly, good-naturedly and advised, "Lemme warn ya right now. I can guarantee any yakuza you run across won't approve of anyone going after their favorite assassin group."

"I'll keep that in mind," Jean responded without a hint of gratitude in his voice, "Thanks for the hardware." With this he left, a bit shaken but still composed. It wasn't often that Jean was taken off-guard, but Robert managed to do it by skillfully hiding the true depth of his intelligence. Because of this, Jean decided that if his offer was genuine, then the American arms dealer would make a valuable ally. However, with Robert's questionable credibility and motives, Jean would have to keep him at arm's length until he could get a clearer picture of the man.

Suddenly, Jean was snapped out of his reverie when Alessandro, Petrushka, and Masaru approached him. Like Jean, each was carrying weapons concealed in luggage carriers. "Are you done?" Alessandro asked.

"Yes," Jean answered. He decided not to mention Robert to them. Not yet, at least.

"Good," Sandro said, nodding, "It looks like we've got enough firepower for everyone back home. Let's get going then."

The reunited group of five headed towards the exit of the black market with their purchases. The energy of the trading floor hadn't changed. The crowd was still buzzing, customers were still browsing the wares of the vendors, and the vendors themselves were still shouting and hawking. However, Masaru slowed down and commented ominously, "I sense a change in the air. Something is wrong."

The SWA handlers looked around suspiciously. Surely enough, they caught several people staring at them. Upon being spotted, these people immediately averted their eyes and melted into the crowd. "We need to get out of here," Jean growled, "Now."

The group sped up, tightening their ranks and pushing people out of their way. Their hands remained at the ready, prepared to snatch a knife or gun out of an attacker's hands. It seemed as if it was only by the grace of God that they managed to reach the exit without being assaulted. The doorman let them out into the cold November night.

The three men and two girls surveyed the exterior of the abandoned office building and the equally abandoned street. They were greeted by the murmur of the wind. Nothing more.

Petrushka sighed in relief. "Let's get moving," she suggested nervously, "I don't like being out here."

The rest of the group agreed implicitly and started the long walk back home. Little did they know, however, that as soon as they stepped onto the street they had entered the crosshairs of the _Satori…_


	11. The Demon's List

**Chapter 11: The Demon's List**

Nana yawned as she clicked and typed away at her new computer. Yes it was nice, but she just couldn't find a way to put it to proper use. The best she could do was post in the massive multitude of rumor topics on the internet, hoping that she could pick out a nugget of useful information among the piles of garbage and memes. It had proven so useless thus far that she had even allowed her brother, Nobu, to play games on the computer, watching him with distaste as he reduced their only source of intelligence to a mere juvenile plaything.

In truth, however, both Nana and Nobu were glad for the distraction. Everyone at the safehouse, especially the children, felt that Masaru's search for weapons was the final step into inevitability. Once the guns had entered the warehouse, there would be no turning back from the war. Nana wondered if she and her brother would have to fight as well.

At the moment, she was alone in the dark, save for the glow of the computer monitor. Everyone else was asleep. This was why she jumped in fright when she heard the email notification sound pop out from the speakers that she had forgotten to switch off after Nobu had finished playing. Looking at the sender identification, she immediately recognized Masaru's cellphone number. After opening the email, Nana jumped out of her chair, knocking it over in her panic, and rushed to wake Osamu and the other adults. A second's delay could have been the difference between life and death…

* * *

Petra breathed heavily as her heart raced and her body secreted generous amounts of adrenalin throughout its systems. Her mind suppressed the searing pain in her shoulder but kept her thinking clear and rational, just as it was programmed to do. The bullet had just missed her collarbone and passed through without hitting anything vital, despite the fact that Petrushka had been standing perfectly still at the time the shot was taken. This and the fact that the sniper hadn't taken a second shot before the quintet ducked into an abandoned building for cover was a strong indication that the marksman that had attacked them was no marksman at all.

"The time between the impact of the bullet and the report of the rifle was short," remarked Jean, "The shooter's close."

"We should conserve our ammunition," Alessandro added, "Petra and I will go find the sniper if you give use directions, Jean."

"She's injured," Jean replied.

Petrushka interjected, "I'm fine, it's just my off-shoulder. You'll do a better job of pinpointing the shooter."

"I will draw the fire away," Masaru offered, "Once I have done so, you may move."

They all approved. There were no other options. "Rico," Jean commanded, "You go with Masaru. If anything happens to him, get him into cover."

"Affirmative," Rico responded obediently.

There was a brief, silent count to three and like a flash Alessandro, Petra, Rico and Masaru were on the move. The latter two sprang out around the corner of their cover into the street where they had been fired upon. The shooter seemed to hesitate for a second, perhaps taken aback by this sudden display of recklessness, before taking another shot. This one went wide, shattering the windshield of a car parked nearby and causing the alarm to go off.

As Rico and Masaru dove into cover, Sandro and Petra jumped out of it at a dead sprint. Again there was a pause from the shooter and a delayed shot. This one landed closer to its intended target, blowing some mortar out of a wall several feet away from Sandro's head. The Fratello took this as their signal to duck into a side alley.

Alessandro took a brief moment to catch his breath before speaking into his earpiece. "Jean," he grunted, "Do you have eyes on the sniper?"

Jean peaked around the corner cautiously, looking for the flutter of a curtain or the glint of a scope in one of the many buildings at the end of the street. "Negative," he reported, "Get him to take another shot."

Alessandro barely concealed his sigh in response. "Wilco," he answered curtly.

"If you don't mind, Rico…?" Petra said sweetly into her earpiece.

"Moving," Rico replied simply as she and Masaru jumped once more into the kill zone. They heard the shot but again the inept shooter missed his marks.

Jean caught the sight of the muzzle flash out of the corner of his eye. He immediately fixed his gaze on a tall apartment building, waiting for a second shot so that he could pinpoint the sniper's exact location. He held his breath intently. Finally he heard a distant _pop! _and saw a flash of light.

"I've got him!" Jean reported, "The white office building, sixth floor."

"Roger," Alessandro responded, "We're flanking. Keep him busy, Rico!"

"Understood," Rico replied.

Sandro locked eyes with Petra, who gave him a silent nod as she drew her Taurus from its holster. The pair then moved down the alley to circle around out of the shooter's line of sight.

Petrushka stopped before entering the street. She poked her head around the corner and saw that a few civilians had stepped out of their restaurants and bars at the sound of distant gunfire. The bystanders looked around, confused.

Alessandro removed the track jacket he had been wearing and draped it over his partner's shoulders in order to hide her gunshot wound. "Be cool," he advised.

"_Sempre_," Petra scoffed smartly as she and her handler stepped out onto the street at a brisk walk. The building they were heading for was only half a block away from their current position, but the Fratello had to move as fast as possible without attracting any attention. Especially considering the sniper's poor aim, he would soon feel pressured to relocate.

"Keep an eye out," Sandro warned his partner, "We don't want to get ambushed ourselves."

His fears, however, were unfounded. No assassins jumped out at them from the crowd and even the building in which the sniper's last known position was located seemed to be unguarded and unwatched.

"I don't like this," Petra mused suspiciously, "It's been too easy so far."

As usual, Alessandro's answer didn't reflect the gravity of the situation. "Don't worry," he said in mock reassurance, "There's still plenty of time for us to get stabbed."

Petrushka shook her head impatiently. "Just go!" she urged her handler, "I've got your six."

At this, the pair entered the office building. They could still hear the occasional sound of sniper fire, muffled by several floors of concrete above their heads. They took this as a sign that they still had time to capture their attacker. All the same, they practically flew up the stairs (getting into a tight, confined elevator did not seem to be the safest option in this case).

Finally, when the gunfire sounded about level with their position, Sandro and Petra stalked through a maze of cubicles in search of their target. Despite the lack of opposition, both handler and cyborg remained tense and made sure to be prepared for an ambush at every corner. They were so intent on being prepared for combat, in fact, that neither paid any attention to the sound of rushed footsteps down the hall, nor the crash of someone flinging themselves through a window.

They would have time to regret this later, however, as they finally sighted the sniper inside of an enclosed office owned by some corporate higher-up. He seemed to be completely oblivious to his surroundings and even from where they stood outside, the Fratello could see that the sniper's hands were trembling and fumbled with the bolt after each shot. His lack of skill wasn't a simple lure after all.

Sandro and Petra exchanged a glance and silent nod. Both understood the unspoken plan: break the door down, storm into the room, and make as much noise as possible to startle the shooter.

They stacked up on either side of the door, silently counted to three, and then Sandro gave a violent kick, splintering the doorframe. In a flash, Petrushka was inside and rushed straight for the sniper, preparing to disarm him.

This proved to be unnecessary, though, as the shooter spun around in a panic as soon as the Fratello made their entry. He voluntarily released his grip on his hunting rifle, letting it fall out the window and down six stories, in order to raise his hands in surrender, a look of sheer terror mixed with despair on his face. Unfortunately for him, nothing could stop Petrushka with all of the momentum that she had built up in spite of her injured shoulder. She flung the track jacket, still draped over her shoulders, at her quarry. It wrapped itself around his face, muffling his pathetic, desperate pleas for mercy as the redhead pounced and took him to the floor, subduing the pseudo-sniper once and for all. She straddled his prone figure like a predator ready to deliver the _coup de grâce_.

"_Gomenasai! Gomenasai!_" the shooter sobbed through the jacket wrapped around his face. He was practically crying, "Please, don't kill me!"

Hearing this, Sandro holstered his weapon. "Get off of him, Petra," he said coolly, "If he was really with the _Satori _he would have either killed himself or forced us to kill him by now."

Petrushka complied, cautiously rising to allow the prisoner to get to his feet. She kept a sharp eye on every minute movement, however, paying special attention to his hands which had been paralyzed in a claw-like defensive position in front of his face.

"Who do you work for?" Alessandro questioned their captive in fluent Japanese as he stood slowly and removed the jacket from his face, "You're not with the _Satori_, are you?"

"N-no," the sniper stammered, still frightened, "I'm freelance."

"Who hired you?" Petra asked, her speech tinged with a slight accent.

"I…don't know." The prisoner flinched slightly after saying this, apparently expecting some kind of punishment.

Sandro and Petra shared a skeptical look, not believing that a hired killer could be so meek. "You must have been contacted by _someone_," the latter tried reasoning in a tone that assured there would be no violence in the interrogation.

"A woman called me," came the still-hesitant answer, "She told me to be here on this day and time."

"And…?" Petra said encouragingly, yet with a hint of impatience.

"And when I got here my spotter was waiting for me. She gave me the rifle and told me to shoot at you."

The Fratello was shocked by this news. "Spotter?" Sandro said, suddenly excited, "What spotter?" His mind raced back to the sound of shattering glass that he and Petrushka had heard earlier. _Of course! _he thought, silently cursing himself for this oversight, _How else could he have known who to target?_

"I-I tried telling the woman on the phone that I didn't know how to use a sniper rifle," the detainee answered, becoming nervous again at Alessandro's change in tone, "But she told me that it was alright and that she would send a spotter to help me."

Before Sandro could inquire further, Jean's voice came through his earpiece. "Ricci," Jean said, "Do you have the target? Is he alive?"

"Affirmative," Alessandro answered, "But he's not who we think he is."

"Understood. Get him out on the street. Osamu is here to evacuate us."

"Wilco," said Sandro and then, to Petra, "Let's get him out of here and hand him over to Jean."

Petrushka furrowed her brow and said, "Are you sure we want Jean doing the rest of the interrogation? I don't think our prisoner can handle that."

Sandro answered, "We don't have time to worry about that right now. The _Satori _know about this location and I'm almost certain they meant for us to catch their hired gun. The sooner we get him on the move, the better."

Without another word Petrushka held their detainee by the wrist and guided him out of the room. She stopped, however, when she saw a kind of scroll on the floor that looked completely out of place in the office environment. She picked it up and opened it.

Realizing that his cyborg wasn't following him, Alessandro stopped and turned back. "What's that?" he asked, indicating the paper in Petra's hands.

"It's got our names on it," Petrushka replied vaguely, a look of confusion on her face, "I think…it's a hit list."

"They knew where to find us," Alessandro mused with suspicion, "They knew how to bring us in and once they did, they conveniently left behind a list of targets with our names on it."

"It's insulting how obvious they made this," Petrushka added.

"Maybe not," Sandro responded, "The question is: is the captive meant to lead us to our deaths? Or will it be the list?"

"So…what should we do?"

Alessandro paused for a moment, weighing the dangers of the new baggage they carried with them. Finally, he was forced to make a choice. "Bring them both," he said simply.


	12. The Demon's Fangs

**Chapter 12: The Demon's Fangs**

His name was Naoki. He had been a contract killer for a grand total of three weeks before being contacted by the Mysterious Woman on the Phone. He found himself in "The Business" after he was laid-off by the company in which he worked as a kind of pencil pusher, a corporate doormat whose only purpose beyond filing and sorting was taking his employers out for drinks, during which time they taunted him and abused his charity. On top of this, he recently found out that his wife of ten years had been having an affair with one her high school students. And so Naoki, with much anger and bitterness in his heart, threw off the shackles of his cubicle lifestyle in order to replace them with the excitement and danger of erasing criminals and sinners from the world. For a fee, of course.

Rico sat across from him in the van as Masaru drove with Osamu in the passenger's seat and the other SWA operatives packed into the back with the captive. In spite of the fact that Naoki had tried to kill her friends, Rico felt a kind of childish pity for the wannabe assassin. She examined his forlorn, defeated face and his eyes glittering with sadness and through them Rico could see a man very much beaten down by unforeseeable, uncontrollable circumstances. Naoki had fallen down a rabbit's hole of pain and cruelty, finally landing in a situation that would inevitably result in his demise.

In a way, he was a lot like Rico. Except Rico preferred to find happiness in the small things in life, rather than finding solace in the taking of other lives. She saw her work with Jean as her part in the exchange between herself and the Social Welfare Agency. Her life for the lives of her targets. She didn't mind, though. The people she killed had done terribly bad things. Or so she was told.

Rico watched as Jean peered into Naoki's face intently, probing for any sign of dishonesty. Several minutes ago, Alessandro had recounted his story to the other Fratello. Jean found the paltry information unsatisfactory. He was often unsatisfied.

"So you know nothing else?" Jean asked quietly and calmly, yet with a tone that warned of a possible swing to rage at any moment.

Naoki waited for Alessandro to translate before he shook his head, shrinking in on himself meekly. He couldn't bring himself to look into those deathly blue eyes.

"What about your spotter, then?" Jean pressed, "Is there anything you can tell us about her?"

Alessandro translated. "Well," Naoki said to Sandro, "She didn't get angry with me for my poor marksmanship. It seemed as if she wasn't expecting me to kill any of you." Sandro then translated _this _message to Jean, who found this mildly interesting, but otherwise not very useful.

"And what of this?" Jean questioned, becoming increasingly agitated at the lack of information. He took the scroll found at the sniper's vantage point and opened it for the prisoner to see, "Do you know what this is?"

Again Sandro translated. Again the captive shook his head.

Rico watched her handler carefully. He had the look on his face that, in Rico's experience, always preceded some kind of punishment. But then he closed his eyes and breathed deeply. When Jean looked up again, the look was gone, replaced by his default, surly mask.

"They're going to be looking for you," Jean tried a different tactic, "And when they find you, they will kill you." He waited for the translation to catch up, then he continued, "We can draw their attention away from you if you will just give us something that we can use against them."

After Sandro finished relaying this information, Naoki told him, sounding scared and desperate, "I don't know anything! Honestly! I got the call, liked the pay and showed up where and when they wanted me. The next thing I know, I'm here."

Jean listened as Alessandro repeated this message in Italian. Afterwards, he thought to himself for a moment. After a bit of silence, something dawned on him. "Do you know how they found you?" he asked. If the _Satori_'s plan was never to actually _eliminate_ the Fratelli, and all of the information gathered so far indicated that this was so,then how could they, by chance, pick a rookie killer at random who just happened to have no experience as a sniper.

Naoki paused after hearing the translation. At first he seemed confused, but then a look of realization came to his face. He said something in Japanese to Alessandro.

"He says," Sandro started as if unsure of how to translate, "That he registered himself at The Graveyard."

"The Graveyard?" Jean said curiously, "Do you know what that is?"

"Your guess is as good as mine," Alessandro answered.

"Masaru-_san_," Rico said to the driver, displaying her natural curiosity (and budding knowledge of Japanese honorifics) in a rare display of self expression, "What's 'The Graveyard'?"

"It is a myth," Masaru answered dismissively, "They say it is a large secret community hidden underground for the purpose of finding hirable criminals and trading or buying secrets. I have never seen evidence of its existence."

"Well obviously this man's been there," Jean countered. He turned back to Naoki and asked, "Tell us about The Graveyard."

Before the prisoner could answer, however, Rico saw Osamu look into the rearview mirror and mutter something to Masaru. There was a sudden subtle difference in Masaru's driving, a slight but noticeable change in the way Rico's weight shifted around in her seat. The interrogation stopped abruptly as the Italians in the back began to realize what was happening. The first hard turn, during which Rico was sure the van would tip over, confirmed their suspicions. They were being pursued.

Guns were drawn. Slides were pulled back and released with rapid clicking noises like the chattering of a skull's trembling jaw.

Jean drew a pistol from his duffel bag and handed it to Osamu along with several extra magazines. "How did they find us?" Jean asked to everyone and no one in particular as he did this.

"We forgot to sweep the prisoner for bugs," Sandro replied as he gripped a handle of the back door.

Rico took hold of the other door handle. She looked back at Jean who, with a grim nod, gave her permission to act. Rico jerked the handle at about the same time Alessandro did the same and Osamu rolled down his window. Immediately the night air rushed into the inside of the van, buffeting the passengers.

Behind the now-speeding van, a grey sedan maintained a close following distance. Rico stepped back towards the interior of the van immediately after opening the door, grabbed hold of a leather strap hanging from the ceiling to keep her balance, and began firing with one hand at the driver's side of the pursuing vehicle's windshield. The other armed passengers followed suit.

In mere seconds under fire the windshield of the sedan was covered in white, criss-crossed veins. The loss of vision caused the driver of the sedan to swerve uncontrollably and crash into a light pole before the passengers inside could retaliate. However, as if signaled by the elimination of this team, another identical car seemed to materialize from nowhere to resume the chase. The passengers of this one, though, were ready by the time they began their pursuit. They peeked through the open windows of the vehicle like the extras of a bad hood movie.

This time there was a true exchange of gunfire. The _Satori _assassins' machine pistols sprayed wildly and inaccurately, but Masaru swerved left and right just to be safe. The SWA operatives in the back struggled to hang onto their straps while the captive contract killer was thrown about helplessly. Naoki barely escaped the fate of roadkill thanks to Petrushka, who took the time to stop firing at the sedan so that she could grip the back of his collar and get the prisoner to his feet, at which point he clamped his hands onto a free strap and clung to it for dear life.

Rico focused, using her valuable experience as a sniper to fire with incredible accuracy despite the wild swerving of the two vehicles. She killed two of the passengers in the car, their bodies falling out and rolling along the pavement.

Before she could dispatch the third, however, the van made a wild movement and in her focus, Rico released her grip on the strap above her head. She was flung bodily across the inside of the vehicle and practically rolled along the wall, pinned to it as she was by the centrifugal force of the van's swerve. She would have flown out the back altogether if Alessandro hadn't sacrificed his weapon to reach out his hand and take hold of hers.

Rico hung in the air, half of her body dangling outside the vehicle (now on two of its four wheels) for but a moment. She seemed to see everything in a freeze-frame. The passengers of the van were each barely hanging onto their straps, each suspended at various angles. Rico saw Jean's jaw locked tight in preparation for the coming impact, whereas Sandro and Petra's mouths were open, the former's in a call of surprise and the latter's in a wide "O" of panic.

And then, as if some omnipotent viewer had pressed a "Play" button, movement returned to the world, which spun into a dizzying, incomprehensible swirl as Rico lost her grip on Alessandro's hand. She hit the pavement hard and rolled over and over for several meters before coming to a full stop. By some miracle she had not lost consciousness. By another, she realized that she had kept a hold on her weapon.

Rico got up slowly, first on her hands and knees, then to her knees, and finally to her feet. She looked left and right, confused by the sudden stillness of the night. She saw the overturned van in front of her and behind her was the garbage truck that had nearly crushed it, forcing the driver of the van to make such a sharp turn that the vehicle rolled onto its side. Rico took a step toward the van and felt a sharp pain run down her leg along with the hot liquid that she knew to be blood. She ignored the pain and limped slowly to the van to make sure Jean was alright.

Eventually, she reached the overturned vehicle. The top back door had shut itself after impact and Rico, after placing her gun on top of the van (previously its side), struggled to pry it open with her bare hands. When she did, she saw a tangle of bodies and limbs but could not distinguish between the owners of each. At first Rico was dismayed, thinking she was looking at a pile of corpses. However, she quickly detected movement from underneath the pile, then voices grunting and groaning.

Petrushka was the first to untangle herself from the other passengers. She shook her dizzy head, her red hair swishing back and forth like a horse's tail. She looked up and saw Rico staring back at her.

"Is everyone alright?" Rico asked with a dull sort of concern that seemed to understate the nature of the accident.

"I think so," Petrushka managed to mutter despite the fact that her head was still spinning slightly, "Everybody's still breathing."

Looking again at the pile of bodies, Rico realized that this was the truth. Every limb in the pile seemed to be working itself, as if testing for damage. Stooping, she noticed that even Masaru and Osamu were beginning to stir and untangle themselves from their seat belts. Rico looked back at Petra with a thankful smile, but cocked her head slightly when she saw her friend's face go instantly from confusion to terror.

"Behind you!" Petra yelled, pointing.

Rico turned in time to see the knife coming at her, perfectly level with her throat. She side-stepped quickly, narrowly dodging the thrust of the blade. Her body seemed to have jolted her wounded leg awake so that her movement was barely impeded. Rico took on a defensive stance, ready for the next strike.

Her opponent was small and wiry, dressed all in black. The sinews and muscles of his arm came into perfect focus as he swiped the blade sideways in a vicious, yet calculated slash, again aiming for the throat.

Rico ducked under the knife and struck twice in quick succession: a left straight into the assassin's midsection followed instantly by a right hook that caught him at the jawline. Her opponent staggered slightly but shook off the assault with ease. Rico took a quick step forward which transitioned into a light hop that launched her at her attacker with her fist cocked back. As she came into range, she thrust her fist forward, looking to crush the man's trachea with one swift movement.

The assassin deflected Rico's strike in midair and twirled around to her side, his body moving with the grace and precision of a dancer. As he did this, he tossed his knife into the air lightly, catching it expertly so that he held it in an underhand style. Before Rico could even hit the ground, the assassin thrust his arm back, knowing that the knife would dig itself into her back and sever her spine.

However, the attacker found his arm suddenly weighed down, unable to move as Rico landed on her feet and rolled away to a safe distance. The assassin looked down and saw a red-haired girl clinging to his knife arm, pulling him down. He struck her once, then twice in the face with the bottom of his free hand, forcing her to let go and fall onto her hands on the pavement. He raised his knife up and prepared to plunge it into her brain stem.

Rico, now in her opponent's blind spot, dashed forward and brought her small fist crashing into his side. He nearly folded in half and Rico could hear and feel his ribs crack under her knuckles. As the assassin turned his head to look up at her, Rico raised the same fist and brought the back of it down onto his temple, bringing her attacker down to his knees for the first time. Finally, she reached down, one hand cupping his cheek bone and the other cradling the back of his head. Rico twisted quickly and cleanly. The assassin's body twitched once at the sudden movement and then slumped down, lifeless.

Petrushka got up from her hands and knees, working her jaw to make sure it wasn't broken. "Was that a _Hanone_?" she asked. By this time the others in the van were in the process of extracting themselves from the mess of it. Even Naoki had survived.

Rico looked at Petra and simply answered, "I think so."

"_Gesù_," Petra panted, "They hit _hard_. Are there any more of them?"

All Rico had for an answer was a shrug and a smile.


	13. Arabesque

**Chapter 13: Arabesque**

Petrushka's head was spinning so fast and throbbing so hard she could have sworn that her brain was knocking against the inside of her skull, trying to force its way out. She would have helped it, too, if her head had a latch, just to let it breath and clear out the disorganized clutter of thoughts that she was losing control over. To distract herself, Petra looked out the window and watched the tops of the clouds go by, dyed orange by the sunrise. She would be in the airport in about an hour and then back in her dorm in another forty-five minutes where she could throw herself onto her bed and clear her mind in peace.

_Wait a minute_, she thought to herself. Petra blinked and the window, the clouds and the sunset disappeared. The sound of the plane's engines and the murmuring of its passengers ceased instantly. Her fantasy died as quickly as if she had been watching it on television when the power suddenly went out. She looked around, disoriented, to find herself bouncing in the back of a van, a new van that her group had been forced to commandeer after the original one, with its leather safety straps and reinforced carriage, had been overturned.

Petrushka was surprised when she realized that despite the fact that her experience in the plane was a hallucination, her eyes still needed to adjust to the darkness of the vehicle in the Yokohama night.

She looked around (simply for the sake of moving since her mind couldn't process anything in her line of sight) at the other passengers. Surprisingly, none of them had been seriously injured. Physically, the worst for wear was Rico, who realized after her fight with the _Hanone _that a shockingly large shard of glass had lodged itself into her upper thigh. Other than that, scrapes and bruises were plentiful among the present company.

"Maybe it wasn't the best idea to take that piece of glass out of your leg on the field," Petra advised Rico, looking uneasily at the blood that had dried on the pants of the latter, "You'll probably need Doctor Donato to do a replacement."

"I'm sorry?" Rico responded, cocking her head and crinkling her brow in confusion.

Petrushka shook herself back to her senses, remembering that this time the Social Welfare Agency's surgical team would not be performing the surgery. "I mean Ken," she corrected herself, "Ken will probably need to replace your leg."

Alessandro interjected, "Ken _can't _replace Rico's leg. Are you feeling alright, Petra?"

The thought of lying to put her handler at ease crossed her mind, but Petrushka ultimately decided that doing so would not help either of them. "No," she admitted in frustration, "I can't get my head straight."

Sandro paused and studied his cyborg's face. The latter refused to make eye contact and she looked more distant than usual, but he could tell that something was bothering her. "Well just stay calm," he finally said, partly for the sake of caution and partly because he hesitated to utter the words that came to mind – for they were too tender for a professional relationship – in front of present company, "We'll be home soon."

_Home_, Petra thought, closing her eyes and thinking of her dorm room back in Italy. _It's a lot farther away than when we first got here_.

She hadn't realized it before, but…she was in _Japan_! There was no backup, no real source of intelligence. Suddenly, the stark reality of the situation bore down on Petrushka's mind like an unstoppable tidal wave and with it came a flood of fear and worry. Was she going to make it home? Were _any _of the Fratelli sent on this damned Operation Far-Flung going to return? Petra imagined Claes and Angelica dying in the middle of the desert, their lifeblood spilling out and mixing with the sea of sand that surrounded them on all sides. In her mind's eye she could see Triela and Henrietta, covered in burns and full of shrapnel, the falling blizzard snow piling up on top of their nearly dead bodies giving them a cold burial deserved by none but never before received by two nobler, kinder souls.

Up until the moment when Petrushka looked up to see an assassin with his arm raised, ready to strike her down once and for all, she could usually remain critical and skeptical, yet positive, regardless of the situation. However, now that she faced the reality that she wasn't the main character of some dramatic narrative of fast cars, quick guns, and forbidden love, Petra was at a loss. She shuddered to think that the end of her life could come as quickly and quietly as the edge of a knife sailing through the shadows. She thought back to all of her previous missions and was shocked when she realized just how romantically she regarded them in the past. She always could remember the caress of the wind in her hair as she and Sandro sped across the countryside, or the gentle stroke of Sandro's fingers on her neck as he placed a tender kiss on her trembling lips, but never before did she associate these moments with the constant peril in which her life was placed. Now she realized that the wind blew through her hair because she and Sandro had been fleeing from killers and terrorists. Did this mean, then, that her handler's tender kisses were solely given because they needed to hide from these same killers?

Back home, at times when she felt lost, or when she worried because she had previously caught Sandro staring at her red hair with a contemplative, almost bitter frown, Petrushka would stand outside on the grass of the SWA grounds and begin to dance using the moves that she couldn't remember, yet that came smoothly and naturally to her like visitors from a forgotten dream. With her eyes still closed, she imagined herself doing so now. She could almost feel the chill of the night air cooling her body as she practiced her dancing. Before she knew it, she was spinning and tumbling gracefully in the darkness back in Rome…

* * *

She began with a tombé, balancé and an assemblé which then escalated into an elaborate, frantic series of pirouettes, soubresauts, and grand jetés. With her very movements, Petrushka was able to reduce the entire world around her to a hypnotic swirl which blended the dark violet of midnight with shadowed green, dark grey, and splashes of brick more black than red. She danced tirelessly, despite the droplets of sweat which were gathered on her arms and forehead and then flung away by the sudden movements of her routine. The liquid beads shined like diamonds and then disappeared as quickly as if the night coveted them like such priceless gems.

Petra danced without music; the movements came to her naturally from the void of a life long lost and though it lacked rhythm and regularity, the dance would have appeared even more beautiful to any watcher than a typical routine, strict and austere with its formulaic nature. The beauty of it seemed to flow from a fountain of the dancer's wild, intuitive nature. The music of her heart and soul were enough to keep Petrushka dancing. She listened to the ebb and flow of the inaudible notes instructing her to perform her routine step by step, as if only this specific series of techniques would ease the anxiety building up within her. She danced to protect her subconscious and chase away the demons of homesickness that plagued it.

After a short, soothing eternity during which Petrushka faced and reconciled her longing for home through the effort exerted from flinging her very own body and soul into a passionate frenzy, the heart-music within began to slow. Her movements changed from quick and flitting to a graceful, deliberate adagio until they finally stopped at a gorgeously elegant arabesque. She held this position and breathed heavily, glistening by the light of the stars, finally at ease…

* * *

Petrushka opened her eyes. She looked about with a new clarity of mind as if a fresh breeze had come through her head and swept away the junk that had previously choked the machinations of her consciousness. She was surprised to find herself lying on the couch in the harbor warehouse. Although she had been so intensely absorbed in her reverie, she probably would have awoken at the slightest provocation. She was left to wonder whether Sandro had carried her in, or whether her body found its way inside by pure instinct. For a moment, Petrushka thought she could feel a tingling on the back of her neck as one would after being gently, lovingly caressed. Perhaps that old, familiar countryside wind had travelled all the way from Italy just to carry her in. But she doubted that.


	14. To Protect

**Chapter 14: To Protect**

The warehouse buzzed with activity. With the new weapons and the lead on The Graveyard, the refugees again had reason to act. This was the breakthrough they had been waiting for. Now the wheels of fate had begun to turn and would stop for nothing until they either came crashing through the _Satori's _doors, or wither and die along with the refugees.

Jean woke that morning feeling surprisingly refreshed. Though slightly bruised and sore in almost every imaginable region of the human body, Jean felt he was still in fighting form. In fact, the action of last night made it difficult for him to sleep. By habit and nature, Jean usually refused to rest after making an important breakthrough on a mission. Instead, he would usually continue to push forward, greedily seeking more information or hounding his target as relentlessly as the Grim Reaper harvests the souls that are ripe for the picking.

Back home, if the location of the target was still unknown to him, Jean would spend these restless evenings doing research. He would pore over the dossiers of notable Padania operatives, or the blueprints of their impenetrable strongholds, expertly pinpointing the slightest weaknesses in both. Once Jean Croce was set on finding someone, they were sure to turn up dead or in his clutches eventually.

At the moment, however, he had no such documents to examine and so wandered the warehouse making himself useful wherever he could, though this alone proved somewhat difficult. After helping Nobu reinforce the inside of the new van's chassis, Jean realized that there was very little for him to do. He observed as Rico and Masaru disassembled the new weapons to examine them for missing parts, listened to Alessandro and Petrushka advise Nana on the finer points of intelligence gathering as she fished the Internet for information, and finally ended up lounging around one of the corners of the warehouse, tapping his foot anxiously, at a loss for what to do in order to occupy his time.

The refugees had so far proven to be surprisingly efficient, considering the oddity of their membership, and their individual skills were put to good use. As a well-rounded operative, Jean was a gifted strategist and mission coordinator, besides being the best shot among the SWA handlers and not at all bad with his fists or a blade. Despite his impressive repertoire, though, he neglected to pick up any hobbies with which he could keep himself busy during his downtime.

And so, of course, Jean decided to shadowbox. He envisioned his opponent before him, hands up in a defensive stance. Jean threw two quick jabs, looking to close an eye or break the bridge of the nose. The shadow evaded easily, deflecting the strikes with two swipes and following with a low jab. Jean's guard took the blow and he ducked the hook that came afterward, weaving his upper body to the side and throwing a hook of his own as he rose up. The strike connected at the jawline and the shadow staggered back. Jean did not pursue, but chose to wait in order to measure the effect of the blow and adjust the weight and targets of his future attacks.

He squared his shoulders and readied himself as the shadow recovered and advanced. Jean cocked his fist back and would have fired it at his invisible opponent in the next instant, but was interrupted by a voice that called out to him.

"May I join you?" the polite voice asked.

Jean straightened himself and turned to see that Osamu had been watching him. He sized up his one-man audience with his trademark piercing, steely gaze. Osamu was an ex-soldier with a heavier, harder build than Jean's. The Italian had the advantage of speed, accuracy, and practice, though, so decided that a friendly spar would not be completely one-sided. After a pause, Jean nodded and readied himself for a more substantial opponent.

They adopted their preferred stances and exchanged a nod. At first, they shuffled and took turns feinting, measuring each other's speed. When Jean circled left, Osamu followed suit. When Osamu advanced, Jean retreated. The longer the fight went, however, the more aggressive the combatants became. Soon enough, they began throwing real blows. They circled around each other, launching attack after attack. Both men were more or less equal. For every heavy strike Osamu landed, Jean answered with two quick, well-placed ones.

Now they were caught up in it, the mutual respect of well-trained combatants testing themselves against the skill and physical attributes of the other. Each clever counterattack spoke of each man's mental strength. Each blow landed, whether quick or strong or both, told the secrets of their drive. As they danced around one another, Jean instinctively formed an intimate understanding of his opponent's true nature and vice versa. Through his cunning technique and relentless combinations, Jean transmitted to Osamu his ruthless, dogged methodology. Likewise, through Osamu's carefully measured strikes and impenetrable defense, Jean found a man who was both powerful, yet protective at the same time.

The sparring accelerated and peaked with a series of brisk exchanges that lacked pause but certainly not adroitness and then, instantly, the fight stopped altogether. Both men stood apart from one another, breathing heavily, and shared a look of something akin to approval. They sat next to one another as their bodies recuperated the energy they spent.

After a few moments of wordless rest, Osamu was the first to venture a conversation. "Jean," he said cautiously, "Why are you here?"

Jean was taken aback slightly at the simple wording of such a complicated question the answer to which he was sure Osamu knew. "I'm here to eradicate the _Satori_," he answered.

"I mean to say," Osamu began again, "Why do you want to fight the _Satori_?"

Now the Italian operative understood and he answered with the curt, confident reply that was usual for his nature. "They killed some friends of mine," he said as he stared into the concrete floor.

"Is this revenge, then?"

"This is my job. Revenge is a bonus."

Osamu frowned and thought on this cold, calculated answer that seemed to have been practiced and repeated a hundred times over. "Do you not fear for your life?" he asked.

Again Jean's answer was lifeless and metallic. "I fear dying without serving my purpose."

"Then you are not much different than Rico-_chan_."

Jean looked at Osamu gravely, searching his face for any sign of ill-intent, but only found a sad, good-natured smile. "Explain yourself," Jean demanded quietly.

"I have spoken to her," Osamu answered innocently, "She is a kind, brave girl with a happy spirit. She does not fear pain or death yet she fears your disapproval."

"The fear of failure is a good motivator," Jean explained as if he was talking about a part of his cyborg's training regiment.

"And so she protects you without fail. But do you protect her as zealously?"

"I watch her back and she watches mine. There's no point in letting her die."

Osamu frowned again and continued his journey into Jean's heart. "You protect her because if you do not, then your safety is compromised. She protects you because she loves you."

"Her 'love' is a hormonal effect of the drugs she takes every day," Jean interjected sharply. He kept calm and he wasn't quite losing his temper, but he knew that it would be difficult to make Osamu understand that the cyborgs weren't really the little girls they appeared to be. They may play and laugh as others do, but in reality their minds and bodies were possessions of the SWA, complete with ID tags and serial numbers. They were human tools and, as such, were good only for the taking of lives. Once they outlived their ability to perform this task, they were as disposable as any other tool.

Osamu paused in thought. "All love can be explained by hormones and chemicals in the brain," he said, "How is her love different from yours or mine?"

Jean didn't answer this question. He seemed to be done with the conversation, waiting for Osamu to become uncomfortable and walk away. Osamu, however, was not finished with Jean.

"My wife," he began, sighing as he recalled fond days long gone, "Was a journalist. She was brave, strong and loyal. But she was also kind and loving. Like Rico, she made great sacrifices for the people she loved, with no fear or hesitation."

In spite of himself, Jean cocked his head toward Osamu just a little bit. He himself had fallen in love with a strong woman and considering the fact that Osamu was alone now, Jean knew that both women had probably met the same fate. "What was her name?" he asked, showing in his own way that his interest had returned to the conversation.

"Hotaru," Osamu answered, "She had a spirit of fire and pursued her stories tirelessly. One day, she told me that she had begun investigating the _Satori_."

"And that put her in their line of sight," Jean inferred.

"Yes. She knew that this would happen, but she could not be intimidated. She never gave her real name to any of her sources. She hoped to protect our son and myself that way. No one knew at the time how much information the _Satori _had access to."

"How did it happen?" Jean said, pushing the narrative along as Osamu began to falter, thinking of his wife and son.

"They sent the _Hanone_," he said, "I believe they knew Hotaru was married to a soldier, so they sent their best. I was not at home when it happened and once I returned it was already too late. Several assassins stayed to wait for me. When I saw them, I knew that my wife was already dead. I killed them all, but I do not remember it. The next thing I remember is finding my wife's body in the corner of our bedroom. She was cradling our son's body with my gun, empty, on the floor next to them."

Jean narrowed his eyes a bit and looked at Osamu. Now the latter was avoiding eye contact. "I don't understand," Jean admitted, "Why are you telling me this?"

"Because," Osamu answered slowly, "While I was there I realize that my son had been killed by a gunshot. The _Hanone_ had used their blades to kill Hotaru."

Jean's mouth compressed into the slightest line when he realized what Osamu was getting at. "Your wife killed your son," he concluded.

"You make it sound like murder," Osamu said sadly, "No. My wife protected our son. She had a choice. She could have wasted her last bullet on one last act of vengeance against the assassins. Instead, she used it to give mercy to the one person she loved most."

Jean stood up now that his body was fully rested. "What does this have to do with me?" he asked as he looked down at Osamu with a critical gaze.

Osamu rose as well and clapped Jean on the shoulder. "Love," he said, "Takes many forms and can be shown many ways. Rico will kill and die for you. That is how she shows her love. If you want to protect someone, loving them is the best way. But there is no easier way to die than protecting someone who does not love you in turn." At this point, he took his hand off of Jean and concluded with a grim, warning expression, "However. There is no easier way to waste death than by losing it in the pursuit of revenge."

And with this final lesson, Osamu left. Now Jean was alone, save for his thoughts and the invisible enemy that he had still had not defeated.


	15. Going Dark

**Chapter 15: Going Dark**

"Comms check," Rio spoke into her communicator, "All units sound off." In response, the Fratelli, Masaru, and Kokoro each complied like children answering roll call. "That's everyone," Rio said, "Jean, does the perimeter look secure?"

Jean and Rico looked out on the street from the vacant hotel room that they had broken into. They could see Sandro, Petra, Masaru and Kokoro, guided by the prisoner, Naoki, standing outside of the dark alleyway that supposedly lead into the fabled Graveyard. Across the street, Osamu had parked the van in which Rio was maintaining communications, both with the Fratelli and with Nana, who would be feeding the team intelligence in real time from the warehouse computer. Otherwise, the street was empty and still. "Affirmative," Jean reported back to Rio without putting down his spotter's scope.

"Masaru-_san_, you're all clear," Rio said.

Masaru confirmed curtly and then said to the Fratello attached to him, "Check your weapons to make sure they are ready and secure."

As Petrushka performed a cursory check on her Taurus, she caught Kokoro eyeing the weapon blankly. Despite the concern and initial refusal of the other refugees, she had volunteered to come along because she was multilingual and would act as a disarming first impression of the team as a whole. After some debate in which Kokoro pushed with surprising stubbornness, her companions relented and vowed to protect her with their lives and to make her safety a priority. Still, the little girl's once long and beautifully vibrant black hair had been cut short because she feared it would get in her way should she be caught in a combat situation. Petra ruffled the new sharp-angled, almost boyish cut playfully and said in her best big sister's voice, "Stay close to me, Kokoro. It could get dangerous in there."

Kokoro looked up into Petrushka's eyes with a small, shy smile, nodded, and kept in stride with her as the group moved down the alleyway as a tense, tightly knit unit.

"We are approaching The Graveyard," Masaru reported to the other teams.

"Understood," Rio responded, "Be careful. Any news yet, Nana?"

Miles away on Daikoku Pier, Nana was keeping an eye on a dozen Internet browser windows simultaneously. She would look at one for several seconds, type something every now and then, minimize it and then maximize another so she could repeat the process. She scowled as she read the juvenile replies to one of her forum posts, punched in one last sour message, and closed the window with a heavy click of the mouse before she replied to Rio's question.

"No," Nana sighed in exasperation, "As expected, there are no obvious tracks that lead to reliable information on The Graveyard."

Rio responded quickly, "I see. Dig a little deeper, then. How're the GPS signals?"

Nana rolled her eyes. She had learned long ago how to keep up with Rio's fast American English, but sometimes when she mashed the words together it was still a challenge to understand. As she was told, however, Nana opened a map of the area in which the teams were operating. She counted nine glowing dots on the map, each labelled with the names of the operatives on the field. "The signals are working," Nana said, "If they are accurate, I do not know."

"Well then," Rio said with a note of finality, "That takes care of the preparation. Everyone above ground will just have to sit and wait to see what happens."

* * *

Petra, Sandro, Masaru and Kokoro followed Naoki closely, silently into the darkness nestled in the middle of a triangle of unnamed, unknown buildings. They stepped carefully to avoid making noise as if they were moving to set up an ambush, though it was more probable that they were the ones about to be attacked. Eventually Naoki stopped in front of a dumpster that seemed unusually dirty, even for a container of assorted waste material. Circling around to the side of the dumpster, Naoki moved it aside with his shoulder. It creaked and grated against the brick of the building against which it was set. When he had finished pushing, the rest of the group could see that hidden underneath was a circular hole in the concrete just large enough for a full-grown man to fit into. The end of a rusty metal ladder could be seen sticking out of the top.

Petrushka winced in disgust at the thought of whatever might have dripped from the dumpster and into the hole in which she assumed they would have to enter. "This might just be my favorite mission ever," she commented dryly.

The group shuffled their feet a bit, silently debating who should go into the grimy hole in the ground first. Finally, Masaru made the decision for everyone else. "You go first," he nodded to Naoki. If this was an ambush, then it only made sense to send him in to die by friendly fire.

"Eh-" Naoki began to protest but stopped when he saw the look that Masaru was giving him. "_Wakatta_," he relented dejectedly, "But it's very important that when you enter, you don't draw your weapons, no matter what happens."

"Why?" Alessandro asked suspiciously, "What will happen?"

"I can't tell you," Naoki answered reluctantly, "They'll hear me." At this last comment, he nodded towards the hole, looking as if monsters would be waiting at the bottom.

Nobody said anything else, consenting to the request by silence. After all, if this was a trap, there would be no sense in telling the targets to not draw their weapons. It would be like a hunter telling a deer not to flee from him.

And so with this, the hapless prisoner began his descent. He went slowly and the others watched as he was swallowed up by the shadows. For a while they could still hear the dull, abrupt ring of his shoes on metal and see the ladder tremble under his shifting weight. Even when these stopped and Naoki had apparently reached the bottom, the others waited in anticipation, expecting gunfire to ring out and muzzle flashes to light up the pit. Instead, however, a call cut through the silent night, causing Petrushka to jump and instinctively feel for her weapon at her hip.

"It's okay," Naoki's voice bounced up and down the pit, "You can all come down now. And remember what I said!"

Masaru and Alessandro exchanged a glance. The operation had just begun and they were already being led into a dark hole of questionable safety by a man of questionable honesty. The odds of not being killed were looking grim at the moment, but they also couldn't afford to abandon the investigation.

"I will go in first," Masaru said.

Alessandro nodded, "If you think that's what's best. I'll follow." He then turned to the girls and ordered, "Kokoro, you go after me so that Petra can watch your back."

Nobody argued. Masaru took a deep breath to calm himself before he began the climb down. Sandro waited for a few seconds before following. Kokoro followed suit and, finally, Petrushka immersed herself in the shadows of the pit afterward.

She found that the stench was surprisingly tame, given the fact that she was currently climbing into a hole underneath a bin full of trash. The darkness, though, was more difficult to cope with. Never before had Petra found herself in such a deep, impenetrable shroud of shadows. She had been blinded almost as soon as her head dipped below street-level, but she continued to climb because she knew Sandro would be down there, facing whatever was waiting at the bottom.

After what felt like several silent hours, Petrushka almost slipped when she put her foot down and found not another rung of a ladder, but thin air instead. The sickening feeling of almost falling into the abyss necessitated a break to breathe after which she closed her eyes, calmed her mind, and let herself drop onto the floor below.

When she hit concrete, her knees buckled slightly because she misjudged the height of the fall. She rose upright slowly and looked around in vain, hoping her eyes had adjusted to the impossible darkness. They hadn't. Though her hands shook slightly, she stretched them out before her, feeling around as she began to step forward.

Suddenly, there was a loud grating and creaking from above. Petra's eyes snapped upward in time to see the circle of light from the hole aboveground disappear like a waning moon. Then a flash of light blinded her and Petrushka moved her hands in front of her face to protect her eyes. Stars dazzled her vision and through the cracks between her fingers she could see several silhouettes against a bright background, hands raised. As she rushed to piece together what was going on, she heard a series of deep _clicks _all around. Those were pistols, rifles and shotguns being armed and leveled at the blinded captives. All at once, everything became all too clear…

* * *

Nana cycled in boredom through her various browser windows. She still hadn't found anything and she wasn't counting on doing so any time soon. She felt a bit lonely, despite the fact that her brother was sitting right next to her, listening to music on a radio and sipping a soft drink (though he should have been looking over her shoulder for any possibly useful information). Nobu wiped the top and sides of the can before passing it to his sister. Even he was not exempt from her germaphobia.

Nana accepted the beverage and took a slow, lazy sip. She almost spat it out when Rio's voice spoke directly into her ear.

"Nana," Rio said, this time in Japanese, "Where is Masaru-_san?_ I can't contact any of them."

"That's odd," Nana replied, speaking more to herself than to Rio. She minimized the forum windows and opened up the map of the neighborhood. On it she could see Jean and Rico's dots blinking over the hotel in which they were perched and Rio and Osamu on the side of the street where the van was parked. Masaru, the other Fratello, Kokoro and Naoki seemed to have disappeared from the alley.

"I don't see them," Nana reported with concern, "Did you hear anything? Gunfire or screams?"

"No," Rio replied, "Keep an eye on the map and let me know if they pop up again." She unholstered the new pistol on the small of her back, racked the slide with a shaky hand and announced in English, "Jean, be advised. I've lost contact with the expeditionary team. Osamu and I are moving to investigate."

"Negative," Jean responded, "You could compromise their safety or fall into a trap yourself."

"What should we do, then?" Rio almost yelled, getting anxious. She was afraid of sitting idly by while her leader's fate was unknown, but she was also afraid of going out there to look for him. She was no fighter, no killer. Right now, she was just a fish out of water, as the saying goes.

Jean thought for a moment. It would be better if he and Rico went in to look for the lost operatives, but their role in this mission was to look out for possible incoming hostiles. Rio and Osamu were perfectly capable of checking in on the lost group, but if they needed to fight they wouldn't be able to hold their own as well as a Fratello. Then there was the plain fact that nobody knew anything about The Graveyard, despite Nana's digging through the Internet. It was possible that the blocking of electronic signals was just a defensive measure. If this was the case, going in armed would be a dangerous mistake. The more he contemplated, the more he realized that there really were no other options. Except…

"Stand by," he ordered, "I'm calling for backup."

Rico looked up from the scope of her VKS with a curious, questioning gaze. The only person she could think of that Jean would call for help was his brother, Jose. But both Jose and his cyborg, Henrietta were in Russia. "Who are you calling?" she asked.

Jean was already dialing the number from the hotel's phone when he answered, "Somebody who knows his way around."

"Can we trust him?" Rico asked.

Jean's hesitation was almost imperceptible, but when he answered, he did so with conviction. After all, if his contact couldn't be trusted, he would have killed Jean the moment they met. "He's our best option right now," he replied.

With the number dialed, Jean listened to the phone ring. Once. Twice. Three times. Then a man picked up with a cheery and drawled, "Hello?"

"Robert," Jean said, "It's John. I need help with something. How much do you know about a place called 'The Graveyard?'"


	16. Six Feet Deep

**Chapter 16: Six Feet Deep**

Once Alessandro had reached the bottom of the pit, he stepped aside to give Kokoro room to drop. When she had done so, he felt around blindly for the girl's shoulder and pulled her lightly aside so that Petra could touch the bottom as well. At this point all was still and quiet in the darkness. There was no sign indicating an attack was imminent. Unfortunately, Sandro's instincts failed him this time.

Almost as soon as Petra hit the concrete, Sandro was blinded, pushed, pulled, shoved and yanked in all directions until eventually he was slammed against the cold, wet, rank-smelling wall of what could only be described as a sewer. He felt hands going up and down his sides and legs, expertly finding and plucking his sidearm from its holster. Sandro kept his hands against the wall, allowing himself to be further frisked. At this point, resistance would only get him shot and he took the fact that he hadn't been shot earlier as a promising sign.

The ambush and disarm occurred within a matter of seconds and with surprisingly little noise. The attackers apparently preferred to control their targets with overwhelming strength and speed as opposed to disorienting them with shouting and yelling. This would have made the entire affair seem almost courteous, were it not for the gruff treatment of the captives.

After a few moments, Alessandro found that his head had stopped spinning, allowing him to analyze his surroundings with more clarity of mind. He turned the slightest bit and peeked from the corner of his eye to see Naoki pinned uncomfortably against the wall just as he was. This provided an odd sort of reassurance.

"Since you're here with me," Alessandro muttered to Naoki, "I'm hoping that this is all just standard procedure."

"Please don't talk," Naoki whimpered, "I don't want them to hit me."

Sandro shook his head impatiently and peered past his former detainee. He could just barely see two additional pairs of arms against the wall. One pair was thin, pale and spindly, while the other was covered in black wool. Whether or not a small child had also been lined up with them, Alessandro couldn't tell. Then he realized that somewhere behind him, that particular small child was speaking to someone.

"They are carrying weapons, sir," Kokoro could be heard politely telling someone, "But they have no intentions of using them unless provoked."

A man's voice, deep, gravelly, and crude replied, "No weapons are allowed here. There are no exceptions."

"You don't understand, sir," Kokoro persisted, "This gentleman here is a very noteworthy politician from Italy." At this, she approached Alessandro from behind and tugged at his sleeve, turning him around. "His political opponents in Europe are slandering his good name with a variety of outrageous claims. He has been reduced to sneaking around in disguises and is here to purchase information in order to disprove the claims made against him, thereby securing his reelection and ensuring a special trade agreement between Italy and Japan."

Sandro was awestruck, not just by the little girl's vocabulary, but also by her uncanny ability to weave tales without the slightest hint of deceit. Her tone stayed steady and did not falter in the slightest. Her hand remained lightly clasped around Alessandro's wrist, yet the latter could not detect any shuddering, sweat, or change in the girl's temperature as she lied to their captor's face while looking straight into his eyes. Though cliché, Sandro was sure that Kokoro could defeat a polygraph.

The man with whom Kokoro was bargaining was large and intimidating. His gaze was steady and sharply scrutinizing. At first, Alessandro thought that the man had somehow picked up on the little girl's lie. "Why does this matter to me?" he said, showing that he had been successfully deceived.

Kokoro continued, "Because this trade agreement contains certain provisions that will increase the exchange of secrets between the two countries, possibly doubling the number of your foreign customers. If you disarm us, the politician becomes vulnerable to assassination and your employers lose the chance to expand their markets."

The man sighed heavily through his nose and paused to weigh the risk of being fired for undercutting the business he was supposed to be protecting versus the risk of being executed for neglecting to do his duty. After a while, he reluctantly made his decision.

"Weapons down," he commanded his men, "We're letting them go. And if any of you mention this to anyone, I'll personally end you."

"_Honto ni arigato_," Kokoro thanked the man earnestly. She then turned to Alessandro and smiled innocently. Alessandro, in turn, grimaced nervously.

* * *

The operatives and their former captives navigated by flashlight through a winding, labyrinthine series of underground tunnels. The guards of The Graveyard seemed to find their way instinctively, not hesitating for a second at the various forks and branches they reached. Eventually they reached the end of the tunnel where a lone, red metal door had been planted into the wall, looking extremely out of place among the black and grey. A multitude of muffled, indistinguishable noises hummed and whispered from whatever waited beyond.

The group approached the entrance and the head guard, Goro, knocked on it using a planned, complicated rhythm, causing the door to open in response. The dark tunnels suddenly flooded with light and the visitors squinted as their eyes adjusted. Stepping through the threshold, they found themselves captivated by the sights that greeted them.

The tunnel opened into an elegant series of wood-planked streets organized in a large grid pattern lined with small wooden huts, each with the iconic tiled roofs of medieval Japan. The main street right outside the entrance was wider than the others and a small artificial stream flowed down the middle, crossed over at several points by curved wooden bridges. At the center of the length of the stream was a man-made island from which a grand, elegant, twisting maple tree seemed to have clawed its way through the dirt, the fingers of its branches reaching up to the darkness in defiance of nature's laws. At the far end of The Graveyard, the faint silhouette of a great red _torii_, an arch-like shrine gate, loomed over the small village. The light level in The Graveyard, provided by dull glowing paper lanterns, remained fairly low, giving the area a pale look of eternal night.

"How long has _this _been underground?" Masaru asked incredulously, voicing the thoughts of the other new arrivals.

"That's one of the few secrets that _isn't_ for sale here," Goro growled dryly, "Now, once you're done gawking, go see to your business and be on your way. And remember: if I hear one hint of trouble, I'll make you regret it." With this, he turned back to the door, nodding to the doorman, and disappeared once more into the shadowed tunnels.

The operatives stepped out onto the main street, still in awe at the sights around them. Everything in the little community looked as if it had been plucked out of a history book and placed underneath Yokohama. Everything, that is, save for the clientele; refined-looking men and women in expensive suits wandered from hut to hut buying and selling hundreds of sensitive, valuable secrets.

"How many people die every day because of a transaction made here?" Alessandro mused out loud.

"I bet a place like this would have made your days working in intelligence a lot easier," Petra commented.

"Maybe for my free time," Sandro replied, "But not for my wallet." And then, turning to Masaru and Naoki, he asked, "Where do we start? We have to make sure not to alert the _Satori _to the fact that we're here."

"That won't be easy," Naoki answered, "All of the merchants are paid visits by the _Satori_, which provides much of the business here. Rumor has it that the majority of the secret mongers here are agents of the _Satori_ and are responsible for much of its counterintelligence work."

"More likely than not," Masaru added, "This entire area is being monitored. There must be some way to ensure that no secrets related to the _Satori_ are leaked."

"There must be a safe option for us," Petra said, looking at each of her companions in turn. None of them looked hopeful. It was one thing to find their way into the source of the _Satori_'s knowledge, but another to navigate it without alerting the beast to their intrusion.

"We can try speaking with Enma," Naoki offered suddenly, "The King of the Graveyard. He is known to be a fierce, independent man who refuses to be controlled by any of the criminal elements in Japan."

"Then I suspect getting an audience with him is more complicated than asking for an appointment," Sandro commented, "Anyone who openly defies the crime lords of his country usually has the security to keep them away from the gates."

"Kokoro made an interesting case for us just then," Petrushka thought aloud, "Would Enma be interested in meeting with the Italian legislator capable of doubling The Graveyard's revenue?"

"It's possible…" Naoki answered contemplatively.

"Wait a minute," Sandro cut in, "It just occurred to me that Petra and I have something else to take care of here."

"Tell us what it is," Masaru said, "And we will take care of it. You need to talk to Enma about the _Satori_."

Alessandro nodded and answered, "There is a traitor within our Social Welfare Agency who has been providing the Padania Faction with the locations of our operatives. We need to identify this traitor and root him out. Would it be possible to find that information here?"

"Yes," Naoki replied, "You can buy any secret here. I know a few merchants who may be willing to negotiate a fair price."

"Will this be enough?" Masaru asked, removing a sizable stack of money from the inside pocket of his jacket.

"It should be, with a little haggling," Naoki answered. At this, all eyes were turned upon Kokoro.

The young girl looked taken aback as she stuttered, "W-would I not be needed to accompany Sandro-_san_?"

"We'll be fine," Petra reassured her, "We've got a good hook and an interesting case that Enma won't be able to resist investigating."

For a moment, Kokoro seemed a bit put out, but her elvish features relaxed after a second of thought. She nodded her silent consent as the team split itself up, the two halves agreeing to meet at the maple tree in an hour.

"How are you feeling about this?" Petrushka asked Alessandro as the two headed for the ominous _torii_ looming over The Graveyard in the darkness.

"What do you mean?" Sandro inquired, looking up at the gnarled maple tree glowing eerily by the dim light of the lanterns.

"I mean, can we trust Enma? What if it turns out that he _is_ in the pocket of the _Satori_?"

"Well, if it comes to it, we can protect ourselves. But I doubt Enma is a puppet for the assassins. A man who has this much information on his hands has the leverage to keep the underworld at bay."

Once the Fratello passed under the great _torii_, the lantern lights faded slowly away. They crossed over a curved wooden bridge towards the silhouette of a large building. As their eyes adjusted to the darkness, Sandro and Petra realized that they were approaching a complex modeled after a medieval Japanese castle, illuminated only by two torches flanking the front doors. At the tremendous doors stood a single mountainous guard wearing a neatly pressed black suit on the lapel of which shone a golden pin that bore the image of a devilish face with a long, pointy beard.

When cyborg and handler approached, the mountain spoke in a low growl. "The Great King Enma has been expecting you. Please, enter." He stepped aside as the doors parted to reveal a perfectly polished wood-planked entrance hall lined with a platoon of stern-looking guards. The torches suspended on the support beams flickered fiercely and the entire scene was mirrored in the planks of the floor, making the room even more spacious and impressive than it already was. At the end of the room a great set of palatial stairs ascended to a heavy, wooden, golden-knobbed door behind which Enma was surely waiting for his guests to arrive.

Petrushka and Alessandro exchanged bewildered glances. "Well," the latter said, coming to his senses, "Let's not keep him waiting." They crossed the hall slowly, climbed the stairs feeling dwarfed by the gravity of the castle's architecture, and gripped the doorknob in tense anticipation. With a twist, the Fratello pushed the heavy doors aside and met with The Great King Enma, face to face.


	17. The Demon's Secrets

**Chapter 17: The Demon's Secrets**

As Alessandro and Petrushka entered Enma's lair, they gawked at the spacious room of perfectly polished, amber-colored wooden planks. From the outside, it seemed impossible that such a little castle could hold such a grand room. Oddly enough, there were no furnishings except for two luxurious leather armchairs propped in front of a large wooden desk behind which Enma and two guards were waiting.

The former greeted the Fratello loudly and amicably in surprisingly good Italian, his voice bouncing up and down the walls. "Well, well!" he called from across the room, "You made it this far after all." The "Great King" was old and small, but dressed in the finest crimson suit and matching tie, had intelligent eyes and a warm, friendly face befitting a kind grandfather. His back was slightly hunched and his shoulders relaxed. To the surprise of his guests, Enma was the exact opposite of the fierce, fiendish face glaring from the button on the lapels of the austere guards imitating statues behind him.

With a knowing smile on his face, Enma laughed and said, as if reading the minds of his guests, "I know, I know. The Great King Enma, the fierce, independent ruler of The Graveyard, is actually a friendly, old, grandfatherly man. In any case, it is a pleasure to finally meet you." He extended his hand to Alessandro, standing slowly and moving in a slightly more energized fashion than a turtle.

Sandro took hold of the old man's frail, veined, leathery hand and shook it as he replied, "Of all people, Petra and I understand. You do have an image to uphold, after all." When signaled to do so, he and Petrushka sat at the two armchairs in front of the desk. The Fratello waited for Enma to speak. Disarmed as they were by his unexpected appearance, they still had the presence of mind to remember that their host was an extremely intelligent and influential man. The veritable army waiting right outside the room was also a nice reminder.

Enma took a slow breath as he looked contentedly at his two guests. After a while, he spoke informally. "I must say," he said, "I'm quite disappointed that the two – or should I say four? – of you have not been stirring things up around here as much as I would have liked."

"To be fair, sir," Alessandro responded respectfully, "We've been beaten back at every turn. It's proven impossible to find the information we want. I had originally planned for us to be like a mosquito for the _Satori_, biting at it every chance we had and then quickly moving out of the way again until we finally brought it down. The tables turned very early on."

Enma nodded with a look of deep thought and understanding. "Your comrades are having difficulties with their missions as well," he mused sympathetically, "Togni and his girls are fighting every day. Hilshire and the other Croce Brother are navigating through blizzards while dodging mortar fire. And here you are, lost in a labyrinth with a ruthless monster hunting you wherever you go. You are all in dire straits indeed."

"You know about our missions?" Petrushka inquired, regarding her host with suspicion.

"Of course," Enma answered matter-of-factly, "My knowledge extends well beyond Japanese affairs. Though I must admit, I never had much of an interest in your Social Welfare Agency until recently."

"What changed?" Sandro asked.

"The _Satori_ did," came the surprising answer. Enma pulled a thick black binder out from a drawer in his desk and passed it across the table for the Fratello to examine.

Alessandro opened the binder to the first page which looked something like a military personnel file for a man whose name was blotted out in black ink. The man's picture in the top left corner of the page had a large red "X" stamped across it.

"That is the former _Aruji _of the _Satori_," Enma explained without waiting for inquiry, "He was killed and replaced shortly before the organization began associating themselves with the Republican Faction in Italy."

"Who replaced him?" Petra asked, "And how do you know he was replaced?"

"The fact that we do not know the identity of the current _Aruji_ is a testament to that man's death. He always preferred to conduct business face to face. His usurper is a mystery and has fundamentally changed the way the _Satori _operates."

Alessandro continued to flip through the binder, which was filled with newspaper clippings, photographs, personnel files, damage reports and other miscellaneous documents pertaining to the _Satori _and its actions. "You mean the group we've been fighting is different from the _Satori _that the people of the criminal underworld know?"

"In a way, yes," Enma answered, becoming progressively graver, "Its members are the same, but its leader and his policies are different. Before, the _Satori _was always referred to as a single entity because of the flawless cooperation between its different branches. To highlight this, the different branches were named for different body parts that correspond to their roles: the _Mimi_ listen for their targets' movements, the _Manako _look for their targets, the _Bikou _sniff them out and the _Hanone_ tear them apart. The only exception to this is the _Aruji_, who is considered to be the _Satori_'s master rather than one of its departments. In regards to their targets' executions, they had always been silent, clean and efficient. Now, they are loud and messy. If the previous _Aruji _was still at the helm, I assure you, you would all have been killed long ago. No offense."

"Well, then what can we do?" Petra asked, feeling suddenly helpless, "We're fighting an enemy nobody understands and the only man who could possibly help us learn about them is just as much in the dark as we are."

"I understand your frustration," Enma replied, "In fact, I _share _your frustration. I have a reputation of omniscience to uphold, after all. However, I am afraid to say that I do not have the information you are looking for."

Alessandro folded his arms in deep thought for a moment before he decided that he had to abandon this trail. Information on the former _Aruji _wouldn't be very helpful at this point. However, learning about the enemies of the _current_ master of the _Satori_ could still prove beneficial. From his inside pocket, Sandro produced the list that Petrushka had found near Naoki and passed it across the table to Enma who unravelled the scroll and examined it curiously.

"We believe the _Satori _left this behind for us to find," Sandro explained, "It could be a trap, but at this point it's all we have to go on."

Enma nodded vaguely as he finished reading the list. "I know these names," he said, "They are the leaders of other assassination contracting agencies. They have been cutting into the business of the _Satori _for a while now. They may prove to be powerful allies for you. However, if I give you their locations I will be compromising their safety, which, if your theory on this list is correct, could be exactly what the _Satori _wants."

"We're the only ones here," Alessandro assured their host, "We'll protect their locations with our lives."

Enma folded his hands in his lap and drummed on his knuckles in thought. The Fratello could see his mind working through his furrowed brow as he weighed his options in his head. Finally, after a long, silent wait, the old man sighed quietly through his nose, picked up a pen and a blank piece of paper from his desk, and began writing.

Without looking up from his work, Enma warned his guests, "If the _Satori_ finds and eliminates these men, it will establish a firm monopoly on the contract killings in all of Japan. At that point, it will become indispensable to the underworld figures here and any hope you once had of enlisting aid to take up arms against it will vanish." He finished writing his secrets and folded the paper neatly into a small, unassuming square before placing it within a plain manila envelope, which he sealed with a loop of red string. He offered the envelope to Alessandro.

Before Sandro could take the envelope, however, Enma pulled it back and looked into his guest's eyes before saying gravely, "Also, you must know that if the _Satori _manages to establish this monopoly and you somehow manage to defeat it, you will be creating a chaotic power vacuum. It is vital that a third party is present to take care of any assassinations so that if the wrong people are killed, the contractors need simply to bring up a history of their transactions in order to hold their employees accountable. Your actions alone may cause a breakdown in the relations between the bureaucracies of the underworld."

Sandro thought for a second about this. If they allowed the new leader of the _Satori _to make this power grab, to cement its place in the national underworld, then suddenly eliminating them could lead to disaster for everyone in the country. Crime-related murders would skyrocket without contractors to impose heavy prices and strict standards on professional hits. Japan's criminal organizations would transform the country into the Wild West. Still, this was only a possibility. If the _Satori _was not defeated soon, then the rise of the Republican Faction in Italy would be a certainty.

"I swear to you this list will be safe," Alessandro gave his answer resolutely, as if making a covenant with a true king. He reached out for the list which Enma once again extended.

There was a flash of silver and black. The list disappeared. Sandro blinked and his mind seemed to take an eternity to process the events around him. All at once, he realized that one of Enma's own guards had dashed forward and, in one fluid motion, snatched the list from his employer's hand and cut his throat with a freshly drawn blade.

Petrushka jumped to her feet just a moment before her handler. She gripped her Taurus in the holster under her arm and was promptly knocked off of her feet by the assassin, who took off for the exit. When Petra hit the floor, she found that she had managed to draw her weapon. She attempted to roll over to get a shot at the fleeing assassin, but was suddenly racked with a sharp, burning pain in her side. She looked down to find that her target had left his knife between her ribs. She managed to struggle to her hands and knees and tried to take aim with one trembling hand.

"Petra!" she heard Sandro grunt beside her. The other guard had drawn his blade after the first had killed Enma and lunged at Alessandro, forcing him to the floor. Now, with all of his strength, Sandro was pushing the tip of the blade away from his eye as the assassin straddling him slowly muscled it downward.

With considerable effort, Petrushka lowered her weapon from her fleeing target and leveled it at the one endangering the life of her handler. She fired twice, both times inaccurately. Nevertheless, she hit the assassin in the shoulder with the first round, which failed to faze him in the slightest. The second round, however, passed through his left eye, obliterating it. This distracted him enough to allow Alessandro to not only push his attacker away, but also to take the knife which had been inches away from tearing through his cornea. With this, he dispatched the agonized assassin, this time less because of mission directive and more out of a sense of mercy.

Cyborg and handler struggled to their feet. The former slowly extracted the knife from her side, which was generally a bad idea, but she wouldn't be able to move as quickly as she needed otherwise. Immediately, the area around the wound cramped up, reducing the blood flow there and buying Petra a few precious hours to get medical attention.

Once this had been taken care of, the pair rushed to the door in pursuit of the escaped assassin. Both remained silent in the face of their utter failure; a failure that could result in a terrible, chaotic era for the Japanese underworld. Of course, this was assuming that the Fratelli would survive to bring about that change. The fact that this was the best case scenario for them also made Sandro and Petra sick to their stomachs.

They passed through Enma's conference room and into the main hall where the two walls of bodyguards that had been there before seemed to have disappeared. The Fratello paused, but rather than dead silence, they could hear distant popping and booming coming from outside the castle. They rushed out to see what was happening and were stunned by the sight that greeted them.

The Graveyard had been set aflame. Fire licked at the paper doors and windows of the huts, sprawled over the wood planked streets and crawled up the trunk of the once glorious maple tree. People everywhere were scrambling for safety, but even in the midst of the inferno and panic, the sounds of a skirmish could be heard. All across the Graveyard, Enma's loyal guards were fighting invaders from the _Satori_, sent to cover the escape of their undercover operative. Somewhere in the middle was a third, unidentifiable group of ragtag mercenary-types who seemed to oppose the _Satori _for some reason.

Looking upon the once quiet and elegant Graveyard, transformed into a terrible vision of war and hell, all because of what they had allowed to happen, Alessandro and Petrushka couldn't help but feel pangs of guilt. However, they couldn't let this slow them down. From this moment on, they were waging a full-scale war. And the clock was ticking.


	18. The Messengers

**Chapter 18: The Messengers**

The_ Satori _reached the scene first. Several very familiar-looking sedans full of heavily armed assassins careened onto the street and parked haphazardly around the area, their passengers poured out into the night and rushed down the alley. Some stayed back to guard the entrance to The Graveyard. Jean would have given Rico the order to fire, but until Robert arrived with his men, it would have been unwise to pursue the assassins alone. If any hostiles decided to inspect the unfamiliar van across the street, however, Jean would have no choice but to engage them in order to protect a certain soldier and their mutual thief friend. Thankfully, it never came to that.

Though the wait was excruciating and getting Rio to stop panicking and keep quiet was incredibly stressful, Robert arrived shortly with his scruffy, but deadly, pirate entourage.

As Robert's vans pulled into the street, Jean gave Rico the order. "Take them," he said flatly and in response, Rico aimed and fired her VKS twice, instantly and silently killing the two assassins standing outside of the alleyway. Robert and his men jumped out of their vehicles, the former issuing orders and dispatching a group to enter the alley and clear out the rest of the waiting hostiles. The once-quiet night was shattered by muzzle flashes, gunshots, and the yelling of men fighting for their lives.

Once it was clear that sniper support was no longer necessary, Jean and Rico ran down the stairs of the hotel in which they had perched themselves. As they exited the building, Jean contacted Rio through his headset. "The street's clear," he reported curtly, "You can come out now." Immediately, the doors of their van opened and Rio peeked out cautiously with a new Beretta held tentatively in her shaking hands. When she spotted Jean and Rico approaching, she jumped out and began assailing the former with a loud series of seamlessly-connected questions and threats for keeping her uninformed of the situation.

Jean pushed past her without a word and held a hand up to Osamu, who tossed him the SIG carbine that had been purchased several nights ago. After claiming the Benelli shotgun for himself, Osamu jumped out of the van as well and handed Jean a few extra magazines for his carbine.

"Croce!" Rio shouted furiously, "Don't you _dare_ ignore me!"

Jean took Rico's sniper rifle and stashed it in the van, replacing it with one of the new H&K MP7's. As he did this, he said coldly, "Rio, you're staying here." He didn't even make eye contact with her.

Rio's torrent of rage stopped abruptly as she became dumbfounded by Jean's incredible discourtesy. Shaking off the shock, she regrouped and answered, "No. Absolutely not. I'm coming with you."

"Do as I say," Jean commanded as if he were speaking to a disobedient child back at the SWA, "You would be a liability down there. Stay here and watch the van." With this, he, Rico and Osamu proceeded to rendezvous with their reinforcements.

"Johnny Boy!" Robert exclaimed jovially upon sighting Jean, "I must say, I'm flattered that you would think of me during a time like this!"

Jean did not return the same sense of joy. Rather, he became terse and stern as the situation called for. There were operatives trapped in a hole in the ground, wherein over a dozen hostiles had followed. In his mind, pleasantries didn't matter, but the mission did and that was all. "Are your men ready to go?" he asked.

Just as in their previous encounter, Robert was not at all put out by Jean's gruff disposition. "Yeah," he answered, smiling, "We're gonna have to go full-force, though, seeing as we're outnumbered four to one. Didn't think the _Satori _would send this many people. You said you had friends down there?"

"I did," Jean replied, "Which is why we need to hurry. I'm leaving one of my own to watch over the cars."

"Alrighty then!" Robert said cheerfully as he racked the slide of his chrome plated Colt M1911, "Seems only fittin' that we bury our enemies in a place called 'The Graveyard.'" The group moved through the alley in which several bodies were strewn about.

Jean focused on Alessandro's chances of survival with the _Satori _closing in so quickly. Despite the disdain he had for Ricci's upbeat and somewhat unprofessional nature, Jean knew that Alessandro was a competent agent and that his cyborg was loyal and equally dangerous. As for Masaru, the fact that the _Satori _once employed him was an adequate testament to the man's skill. This left Kokoro and Naoki. Naturally, the former would be in the most dangerous position, with the latter being a close second considering his marksmanship skills (or, rather, his lack thereof).

However, Jean suspected that Naoki himself may have proven to be a threat after all. The speed at which the _Satori _was able to locate the refugees indicated a possible contact, either within the group or within The Graveyard. Their movements and numbers indicated that they had purpose, a specific objective to accomplish. Since radio communications and GPS locaters were blocked out in The Graveyard, it was possible that the _Satori _had planted some sort of tracking device onto Naoki before they released him to the refugees and had simply followed his movements until his signal disappeared at The Graveyard. Or, even worse, it was possible that Naoki had been feigning incompetence the entire time and had found a way to keep his handlers up to date with the refugees' plans. In either case, the location and safety of the dockside warehouse may have been compromised for at least two days. Why the _Satori _had waited and followed the group to The Graveyard, Jean did not know. However, he planned to "ask" Naoki as soon as the combat subsided.

"Nana," Jean called in to warn the others, "Tell Ken to be on his toes. I think you may be in danger."

"…'On his toes?'" a confused Nana repeated.

Jean shook his head impatiently and clarified, "Tell Ken to grab a weapon and have him stay close to you and your brother. Rico, Osamu, and I are heading into The Graveyard. If you need to contact anyone, Rio will be your only choice."

"Understood," Nana replied, "_Ganbatte kudasai_, Jean-_san_."

She sounded worried and scared, despite her attempts to remain positive. Jean was never one to console children, but he did so now, in his own way. "We'll be home soon," he told Nana before he descended into the small, dark hole in the ground, killing their connection and thereby avoiding whatever she might have said in return.

When they hit the bottom, it was impossible to see past the veil of the shadows. Robert switched on a flashlight, which illuminated a number of additional bodies within its pale yellow cone. Dozens of bullet holes had been chipped into the concrete of the walls, floor and ceiling. The faint popping of distant gunfire reverberated from somewhere deep in the sewers.

"Do you know the way?" Jean asked Robert.

"Of course. I knew where to find you, didn't I? This ain't my first time here."

Satisfied, Jean followed Robert's lead, stepping over corpses as he did so. They left the gruesome scene of the dead, immersing them once more in the cold darkness. But once they passed, there was a stirring among the otherwise still scene. A single body moved, first opening its eyes and then, after a pause raising its head. He looked about once, then twice. Once he was sure that he was clear to move, he pushed himself up onto one knee. He looked up into the shaft of light that came down from the surface. He was close now. The _Satori _courier removed an earpiece from his breast pocket and placed it in his ear. From within the same pocket, he fingered the edges of the manila envelope.

* * *

Rio, hugging her knees and leaning back against the side of the van, found herself wallowing in a strange mixture of helplessness, devastation and fury. Never before had she felt such strong emotions, nor had she and her friends ever been in such grave peril. Experiencing these two phenomena at once could not have been a coincidence.

She blamed the Italians, Alessandro and Jean. But Jean most of all. Rio had nothing against the children. Despite what Petrushka and Rico had been turned into, Rio could not bring herself to hate them as she did their handlers. She wondered who the cyborgs had been in their previous lives. She wondered if they, unlike herself, had any remaining family members or friends, people who love and miss them. Rio knew this wasn't likely, as it would be difficult for the SWA to get away with training the girls to become assassins if their parents were actively looking for them. Regardless, she equated their lack of family to her own lack of belonging. Just as Petra and Rico were once suspended between two different lives, Rio had been suspended between two Motherlands, native and stranger to one, but foreign and resident to another. She pounded the rim of the van's tire hard with her fist, the disappointing sound of her flesh bouncing off metal infuriated her further.

Rio ground her teeth and tried to remain calm. She reminded herself that Croce's decision to leave her behind was just as much for her own sake as it was for his. She had no combat training, no experience with death. She had never killed anything larger than a cockroach. How could she have possibly killed a full-grown man? How does _any_onemove past something like that?

"But did he have to be so damn _condescending _about it?" she muttered to herself bitterly.

"What was that?" Nana's voice spoke directly into Rio's ear so suddenly that she couldn't help but jump.

"Sorry, Nana-_chan_," Rio responded, hastily pushing the bile out of her tone, "I was just talking to…myself…" She trailed off as she saw a silhouette in the dark alleyway. There had been no sound of footfalls.

"_Onee-san?_" Nana said upon hearing the strange tone of Rio's voice, "Is something wrong? Talk to me!"

"Everything's going to be okay," Rio lied flatly, her eyes steady and fierce on the silhouette, "I'm going to turn off my radio now. Everything's going to be fine."

"_Onee-!_" Nana's plea cut off abruptly as Rio switched her communicator off and removed it from her ear. She stood slowly, making sure not to make any sudden movements. It was too late to hide. She had already been spotted.

Once she was on her feet, Rio let out a rattling sigh. She could feel her heart race and blood roared through her ears. It sounded like a crimson river was going to wash down the street and sweep her away. All at once she felt feverish and chilled. The silhouette hadn't moved at all.

Rio thought about the steps she had to take in order to survive. Her Beretta was stuffed in her waistband at the small of her back. _Reach back, grip, pull, aim, fire. Reach back, grip, pull, aim, fire_, she repeated in her head over and over. She inhaled – held the breath – exhaled.

Rio's hand shot to her lower back. The shadow pounced into the light to reveal a cold machine of a man. Rio's hand found the pistol's grip. The assassin soared across the street. Rio's arm pulled the gun out. The assassin bore down upon her. Rio lifted the gun to her chest, aiming hastily, and fired.

The assassin dislocated Rio's jaw with his elbow. In the same movement, he gripped the slide of the Beretta and pulled it away as he slammed his opponent's head hard against the van, his forearm crushing her throat with monstrous strength.

_H-how…?_ Rio wondered in a despair that could only be matched by the horror that followed the clicking of the Beretta's safety. For a second, the world seemed to have been silenced by Rio's fear, save for a faint voice accompanied by static underlays, asking for the listener's status. It was a voice Rio knew and her heart skipped a beat when she realized that it was coming from the assassin's earpiece.

Two shots. Rio's face contorted in agony as the two rounds tore through her, one cracking a rib as the other deflated a lung. When the assassin removed his forearm from her throat, she expected a welcome rush of oxygen, which never came. She slumped back down in shock, her legs unable to operate. Her attacker watched her for a few moments until he was satisfied that she would not rise again. He didn't feel the need to waste another bullet, so he walked away as he spoke into his earpiece. "I have the package, _Aruji-sama_" he said in terse, Japanese using the utmost respect. With this, he disappeared into the night.

Again Rio leaned against the side of the van. Her useless legs splayed out in front of her. She felt her consciousness drifting and was surprised to find a moment of clarity. She was going to die. This much was certain. Furthermore, she realized that this was nobody's fault, not even Jean's. After all, how could he have known this would happen? Therefore, she had no reason to be angry with him, but he would certainly be angry with himself. At that point, only Rico would be able to save him. Rio hoped she would succeed.

Then her mind drifted toward that one last revelation before the trigger had been pulled. Rio had one chance to warn the others. She looked up at the side of the van and saw that a trail of blood had been left behind as her exit wounds had slid down the white metal surface. She lifted her hand experimentally. It was numb and shaky, but it would suffice. With the tip of her finger, Rio painted an image on the side of the van using her own lifeblood. After this was done, she let her hand fall, now as useless to her as her own dead legs.

Before her final hour struck, however, Rio had one last thought. _I was born here and now I'll die here, _she realized, awestruck, _I'm home._ She closed her eyes and passed, dreaming of Nana and the rest of her surrogate family.


	19. Change of Heart

**Chapter 19: Change of Heart**

The fires, started by crudely fashioned firebombs thrown by the invading assassins, died quickly without a steady supply of oxygen. However, they proved to be an effective means of spreading chaos and confusion in The Graveyard. Not only did the initial inferno cause panicked bystanders to flee in all directions, but when they dissipated the only remaining light came from the embers of the smoldering wood and paper buildings. In other words, the flames provided the perfect cover for the _Satori_ courier to escape, as well as for their assassins, who were accustomed to operating in the shadows, to fight.

Alessandro and Petrushka moved from cover to cover in short, quick bursts, staying low to avoid the crossfire of the skirmish that had exploded all around them. The former mentally weighed his options. Trying to identify friend from foe (assuming one side of the conflict was made up of friendlies) would be difficult, if not impossible, and Petra's wound deterred the pair from taking any course of action that would overly exert her. A stealthy retreat would be the best choice as someone was sure to be keeping the van ready for a quick getaway. As for Masaru and the others, Sandro could only hope they had managed to slip out during the initial panic. Then again, there was a chance that, by intervening, Sandro and Petra would be saving their comrades' lives, thus ensuring the team would escape intact. He turned to Petra. "Doing okay?" he asked.

Petra nodded hastily. Her breathing was a bit more labored than usual and she shifted her eyes about nervously. The wound in her side seemed to have stopped bleeding, or at least slowed down. By cyborg-child-soldier standards, she was perfectly fine. However, her handler recognized that she was still, in fact, a child first and a soldier second (and being a cyborg was simply an unfortunate tertiary condition). Therefore, Sandro opted to keep his partner alive.

"Stay close," he said, "And don't engage."

"But what about the others?" Petra asked the last question Sandro wanted to hear.

"Do _not _engage. It's impossible to tell who we're shooting at. We could end up killing a friendly." Before he could begin his lead, however, Petrushka gripped the sleeve of his suit.

"Sandro!" she exclaimed under her breath, "Haven't you been watching? The _Satori _operatives wear black. The others are wearing fatigues and Enma's guards can be identified by their pins."

"Right. Enhanced eyesight." Alessandro stated in deadpan resignation.

To make this decision more appealing, Petrushka added, "We can just avoid confrontation by outflanking and picking off any assassins that are fighting with the unknown guys."

"Fighting dirty, are we?"

"I learned from the best."

Sandro sighed heavily. "Are you sure you're okay to do this?"

As an answer, Petra smirked and switched off the safety of her pistol.

* * *

Jean paced up and down the streets of The Graveyard, toting his new carbine. Rico followed close behind, alert and ready to protect her handler with her last breath, as always. Both were looking desperately for any sign of the other Fratello and the rest of the team that had gone missing, periodically stopping to engage anybody that posed a threat, or to help any of Robert's pirates who were experiencing difficulty with the _Satori_.

Jean and Rico scanned left and right, picking out innocents from hostiles with their sharp snipers' senses and focus. They had to ignore the soul-rending sound of panicked and wounded bystanders weeping and praying for their lives to be saved. It was too dangerous to direct them to the exit through the crossfire and too late to save the underground town. Clearly, whatever had happened here had been a complete and catastrophic failure. For the innocent people who had been going about their business when the first shots rang out, it was a horrific nightmare, a slaughter of biblical proportions. For the combatants involved in the fighting, it was a simple fight for control. Whoever won this night would simply stick around, debrief and go on with their lives.

"Hey! Johnny Boy!" came a wild call from behind the Fratello. They turned to see Robert, who used his M1911 to promptly dispatch two hostiles wielding machine pistols before approaching the Fratello. Robert's flanks were covered by two suited men wearing golden pins rather than the usual gruff pirate types he associated with. When he had caught up to the Italians, Robert smiled as one would when meeting with friends at a quiet park and asked, "Any sign o' your buddies?"

"Negative," Jean replied curtly with a grim, tense expression befitting the situation.

"Well, I just passed by that big soldier ya came down here with," Robert said, "He's foun' some of 'em. No kids, though."

_So Petrushka isn't there,_ Jean thought, _But what about Kokoro?_ He caught the concerned glance that Rico shot to him, indicating that the same thoughts had run through her mind. Any words he could use to comfort her would ring hollow at this point, so Jean offered none for now.

"By the way," Robert added, "I know this would'a been good to know earlier, but these guys're the personal guards of the head honcho round here, Enma. He's a good friend o' mine, so I gotta go check on 'im. You gonna be okay here?" The suited men beside him nodded their heads in stern silence.

"Yes," Jean replied, "I'll keep sweeping the area. When the fighting dies down we'll regroup at the door to the sewers."

Robert beamed amicably and said, "Sounds like a plan! Oh, and would'ja mind helping my boys out when ya can? They're a reliable bunch, but it's a pain in the ass to replace 'em." With this, Robert and Enma's guards departed for the dark _torii_, which had been spared from immolation.

Now free from distraction, Jean and Rico continued the search for Alessandro and Petrushka. They swept across The Graveyard widthwise and then, when they found no trace of the Fratello, moved down a few meters lengthwise to repeat the process. Any opposition they came across was dispatched handily.

Twenty minutes into the skirmish and already the _Satori _forces were thinning. Robert's men were brutal, cutthroat and borderline savage. They took the guns and ammunition from the dead to sell later. Some took more "personal" items from the corpses as trophies. Robert himself, however, was agreeable, if inappropriately nonchalant. Jean wondered at first how such a man had acquired such a following. Then it dawned on him that, as an international arms merchant, Robert probably generated the wherewithal to keep his men happy. Add to that the fact that they seemed to be given the freedom to do and act as they pleased and their relationship with their employer suddenly made much more sense.

Jean's musings were interrupted by gunfire. He and Rico had wandered into the opening near the charred maple tree, on the other side of which, behind a few burned-down huts, a large group of assassins had been lying in wait. They opened fire on the Fratello, forcing Jean to take cover behind the pitiful, twisted remains of the once mighty tree. He pulled Rico into cover with him just as a burst of machine pistol fire cut through the space in which she had been standing

Rico took note of their attackers' positions an instant before being yanked out of sight. "Two and three buildings down," she reported to Jean, "On both sides."

"Numbers?" Jean asked.

"Unknown." Rico responded.

The Fratello proceeded to engage cautiously, but their opponents were sending a steady stream of suppressing fire in their direction. Taking the time to aim would be impossible, as would moving away from the maple tree. It seemed that the only option available to them was to wait until the hostile forces ran out of ammunition, though this would be highly impractical and hardly ideal.

Jean peeked out from behind cover and sent a burst downrange at an exposed hostile. He knew right away that he had missed, but his target fell dead a split second later, as if the rounds fired at him had had a delayed effect. Jean again withdrew behind cover to reload.

Rico's sharpened senses picked up on another oddity. The sounds of her handler's carbine and her own submachine gun were easily distinguished from the overwhelming rattle of the assassins' machine pistols. However, somewhere in the background, Rico thought she had heard the report of a different firearm. Moreover, it sounded to her as if the number of machine pistols being fired was decreasing.

Rico popped out of cover and fired upon her assailants for a moment before returning to relative safety. Within this short span of time she noticed that a number of the assassins lay dead and some of the remaining enemy forces seemed to be engaging someone else. "We've got friendlies!" Rico announced to Jean.

Indeed, whoever had been aiding them had been performing quite competently. The remaining assassins at this point were too few and disorganized to pose a real threat. This prompted the Fratello to take the initiative. Handler and cyborg jumped out from behind the maple tree nearly simultaneously and advanced on their attackers, sending strategic bursts from their respective firearms to suppress their targets. Once Jean's magazine ran dry, the assassin on his side of the street emerged and took aim. In a flash, Rico swiveled in place and eliminated the threat. However, this created an opportunity for the final hostile to get the jump on the Fratello.

The target jumped out from behind his cover, ready to hold the trigger of his machine pistol and sweep it across his enemies to cut them down. Just as he was ready to fire, however, a certain redheaded young woman came flying at him and tackled him into the open. The girl straddled the surprised assassin and smashed his head into the floorboards several times until her unfortunate victim lay still.

Petrushka stood and blew a wayward lock of hair out of her eyes before turning and smiling to her comrades. "Didn't have time to clear a jam," she explained as she proceeded to rack the slide of her Taurus several times, causing the casing within to fly out of the chamber. Afterwards, she motioned for Sandro, who had flanked the assassins from the opposite side, to join her. The two Fratelli had been reunited and it was time to return to the rendezvous point for a debriefing. The sounds of fighting no longer surrounded them on every side. At this point, Robert's men were just cleaning up.

"Petra," Jean said without betraying a hint of concern, "Are you holding up okay?" He nodded toward the bloodstain above her hip.

_'Petra?'_ Petrushka thought to herself in surprise before responding, "I'm fine. The bleeding's practically stopped.

"We'll get you back to base as soon as we can," Jean reassured her, again, with no emotion. He still somehow managed to be somewhat comforting.

Alessandro cut in suddenly, "Jean, the list's been stolen. The _Satori's _going after the people on it."

"We always knew they were efficient," Jean replied, apparently unfazed by the news, "Can we still keep up?"

"It's possible. Our chances aren't great, but at least we've _got _a chance."

The Fratelli reached the sewer entrance where Osamu and Masaru were waiting along with Robert and his pirates. Jean introduced the latter group to Alessandro. Meanwhile, Petra asked Masaru worriedly, "Where are Kokoro and Naoki?"

Masaru answered with quiet concern, "It was calm one moment, then people started shooting and everything was burning. Everyone panicked. The other two just disappeared. What happened here?"

"Some of Enma's guards turned out to be moles," Petrushka explained, "They killed him and stole the information we were looking for. The fire and shooting were meant to cover their escape."

"_Kuso!_" Masaru exclaimed. He shook his head in disbelief. At his side, Osamu stood silently, looking crestfallen.

"Did you find the information I wanted?" Sandro asked after meeting with Jean's unusual friends.

"Ah, _hai_," Masaru answered, suddenly remembering. He produced an unexpectedly small stack of papers from inside his jacket and handed them to Alessandro, who skimmed through them on the spot.

"Well?" Petra said expectantly, "Have we been breached?"

"Yes," Sandro said without looking up from the documents, "Just as we thought. But this is just a correspondence between our Italian mole and his handler. They're using code names, of course, so we're no closer to finding out who's been getting our Fratelli killed."

He folded the papers up and pocketed them before signaling for the group to begin heading for the surface. As they made their way through the sewers, they continued their discussion. "It should be easier to identify our _Japanese_ mole, however," Sandro said.

"Enma's killers?" Robert asked. His mirth had been noticeably reduced after finding his friend lying dead in his office, his throat slashed and gaping open.

Alessandro answered, "No, this whole attack was uncannily timed. There's no way the diversionary force could have begun their attack at the exact same time Enma was executed and the list was stolen unless they were being updated in real time."

"Which would be impossible," Petra concluded, "Since the entire Graveyard seems to block out communications."

"Somebody would have had to go back to the surface in order to call in the reinforcements," Jean added.

Sandro asked Masaru, "When _exactly_ did you lose sight of Kokoro and Naoki? Before or after the shooting started?"

Masaru took the time to replay the previous events in his mind before answering, "Before, I think. The vendor and I had been negotiating the price of those documents for a while, then Kokoro needed to go to the restroom. I let Naoki show her where to go."

Alessandro translated this for Jean and Rico. The former was outraged. "You let a detainee wander around?" Jean asked incredulously. Robert and his men continued through the sewers, but everyone else stopped in their tracks.

"No," Masaru answered defensively, turning to face Jean, "I know Naoki is harmless."

"How?"

Masaru struggled for a moment with the words and decided to answer in Japanese for Alessandro to translate. "I wouldn't have survived this long if I couldn't tell the difference between a dangerous man and a fool," Masaru said confidently, "I watched Naoki in secret and tested him subtly for any sign of competence. He had none."

Once Alessandro relayed this to Jean, the latter regarded Masaru warily before relenting. He _had _been spending the last few years gathering others hunted by the _Satori_. The fact that none of these people (until now) had been false allies was a testament to Masaru's instincts. The group continued through the sewers in silence until they reached the ladder to the surface. Most of the pirates had already climbed out.

"So," Jean finally continued the previous conversation as they began their ascent, "Naoki harbored no malice for us. Why would he suddenly disappear with Kokoro?"

"Maybe he was with her when the shooting started," Petrushka offered, "And took her away to protect her."

The group reached the surface and headed out of the alley toward their getaway vehicle. Something seemed off, however. Robert's group were gathered in a semicircle around the van. Robert himself approached Jean and muttered, "I'm sorry, John, but…well, you should see for yourself."

Jean and the others pushed through the semicircle inside of which Rio was slumped lifelessly against the van. Rico and Petra gasped in horror. Osamu and Masaru started forward in shock. At first, they were prepared to check Rio's vitals, but it was apparent by her unnatural stillness and ghostly pallor that she was gone.

Jean and Alessandro stood a bit further from the scene, both transfixed but for different reasons. Jean was struck dumb by the first pangs of guilt. He was already blaming himself for putting Rio in the wrong place at the wrong time. Alessandro, on the other hand, could not stop staring at Rio's final message to her comrades, for all at once it clarified everything and confirmed a horrible suspicion he'd held for a while. Just above her head, Rio had drawn a bloody heart on the side of the van.


	20. War at Home

**Chapter 20: War at Home**

Nana was at the computer when the warehouse came under attack. The first sign was the sound of engines approaching and dying outside, after which a long, agonizing silence ensued. Nana held her breath. So did her brother, who was readying the various traps and tripwires within the warehouse, contingencies to be used in situations exactly like this. Ken, who was taking cover behind the couch in front of the door, his waistband and pockets jammed full of sidearms and ammunition, was most breathless of all. His heart pounded violently, threatening, he felt, to give away his position.

As soon as the twin _cracks! _of the door's hinges being blown away resounded throughout the building, Nana jumped up from her station, grabbing the pistol on the desk that Ken had left for her reluctantly. She navigated the partitions and traps expertly, having been drilled to do so for several years, and called out for her brother, "_Onii!_" She found him tying a line with shaky hands across a not-doorway. The other end of the line was attached to a pin-less fragmentation grenade wedged between the bars of a cot, its safety lever kept in place by the placement of the weapon. Nobu took his sister's hand and tugged her along towards the only hiding place in the shooting had not yet started.

Ken kept his sights steady on the space where the door once stood and the black void beyond it. He kept himself from firing blindly into the night and compromising his element of surprise. It did not occur to him that there was a reason for the delay between the enemy's entrance and their assault.

There was, very suddenly, a great tumult from above. Ken looked up briefly and then down again to shield his eyes from the raining shards of glass. They cut the back of his head as well as his hands as they shielded his neck, but he ignored this and forced himself up into a fighting stance just as the first _Hanone _touched down beside him. Ken put three rounds into the assassin before he could properly plant his feet and turned in time to step back from a reverse-gripped knife which was aimed at the veins in his neck but caught the flesh on his jaw instead. He put four rounds into this opponent and did his best to ignore the gushing wound in his face but, as per his practice, he remained acutely aware of the damage done to him as well as the pain it caused. Nevertheless, he readied himself for the next engagement.

Nobu and Nana avoided the _Hanone_ whenever they could and when they could not, they chose to lure their opponents to the nearest trap which would maim, wound, or outright kill the assassins for the children. They zigzagged and double-backed constantly, waiting for a moment in which they did not have murderous eyes following them. When that moment came, the twins slowed themselves, keeping low and quiet as they headed for a remote corner of the warehouse.

When they found the correct room, Nobu rolled up the large rug in the middle to reveal a makeshift wooden door which concealed a hole in the floor in which several adults or a good number of children could hide themselves fairly comfortably."Get in!" he hissed to his sister as he lifted the door. Nana obeyed immediately. She had always hesitated to jump into the dusty, dirty hole during the drills.

As soon as she was in the hole, Nobu slammed the door shut and rolled the rug back over it. Nana banged her palms against the trapdoor but her brother stood over it, weighing it down. "_Nani shiteru?_" she called out desperately, "Nobu!"

"Shh!" Nana could hear her brother hiss as he drew his own pistol from the waistband of his pants. He said nothing further for fear that a passing assassin would overhear him conversing with the floor.

Nana stopped attacking the door above her. She did not want to endanger her brother further. She prayed futilely that the _Hanone _would miss this room, would simply walk past and leave her brother safe and sound.

Several shots rang out from above, muffled by wood and carpet. "_Shine!_" Nobu screamed as if mad. His battle cries were made up of profanities and violent gibberish. He was determined to protect his sister's refuge with his dying breath. The boy's shouts could still be heard over the sounds of the innumerable footsteps rushing to silence him, which they did very abruptly. From the sound of it, the _Hanone _struck quickly and retreated with as much swiftness and precision, after which all fell silent.

Nana waited in the dark for any sign or sound of life lingering above her. She wanted to call out to her brother, hoping to hear him answer, but her fear of waiting assassins kept her voice at a broken, frightful whisper. "_Onii_…?" she choked out as tears welled in her eyes, "_Onii__…_?" She received no answer.

After a while, she could wait no longer. With shaking hands Nana pushed the heavy trapdoor open, relieved to find that it was not being weighed down by her brother's body. She looked out through the slit an inch long but could see nothing through the carpet still draped over the door. Finally she built up the courage to slide her gun onto the concrete and shove the door and carpet away with her body, snatching the pistol up and leveling it in front of her unsteadily, ready to pull the trigger at the first sign of hostiles.

Nana was greeted by silence. There were no bodies in the room and the bullet holes in the plastic partitions were the only indication of the fight that had occurred less than a minute before. Then she saw the blood: a shining red puddle on the floor, the edge of which had been smeared away into a trail leading out of the room.

The young girl's heart skipped a beat and she held her breath as she inched toward the bloodstain. She held her gun close to her chest to keep it from shaking excessively. She reached the exit and turned the corner, immediately dropping her weapon at the sight she found.

A man in black lay on his side, gravely wounded by a bullet that had torn through his stomach and ripped his organs apart. His breathing was labored and his face was pale. His only reaction to Nana's appearance was to move his eyes to look at her. His eyes, dark and fierce like those of a dying beast, met those of the girl's, frightened and innocent. She was horrifically enthralled by the sight and, knowing this, the assassin shut his eyes as he passed, ensuring that Nana did not watch the life fade from them.

Nana lingered for a bit, somehow saddened by the softening of the assassin's face when he died. She had feared this man and his kind, hated them as other children fear and hate monsters. Yet in his final moments he had shown her a kind of mercy. Nana wondered if she would have done the same. She would leave the assassin as he lay, unsure what kind of gesture such a man deserved from the girl who would have been his victim. However, she still had the presence of mind to help her side. Nana carefully approached the still-warm body and plucked its earpiece away. She inserted it into her own ear and listened in as the debriefing ended.

A female voice said, as a reply to an unheard statement, "_Aruji-sama _anticipated this. You need not fear disciplinary action. Return to Tokyo immediately."

Hearing this, Nana was now certain that she was alone in the warehouse. She headed for the entrance and as she neared Ken's last known position, she heard voices and immediately froze until she realized that she recognized their owners. The first clear thing she heard was from Petrushka.

"We can't put it off forever. We need to check on the safe room. There's a chance that they haven't been found."

"The _Satori _does not do anything halfway," Masaru answered, sounding crestfallen.

As she heard her friends' voices, Nana immediately felt all of the stress and tension leave her body and she became suddenly exhausted. She stepped around the corner and was greeted by raised weapons. At Masaru's feet, Ken's body lay bloodied and lifeless. Nana started, slow at first, toward her friends as they lowered their firearms. Soon she found herself running and launched herself into Masaru's arms. She choked back her tears long enough to ask, "Is Nobu…?"

"No," Masaru answered with a mix of reassurance and relief, "He's not here."

"Then he's alive," Nana stated in flat disbelief. She buried her face in Masaru's chest and finally allowed her tears to flow freely. This nightmare had ended, but she knew more were on the way.


	21. Those With Hope

**Chapter 21: Those With Hope**

Petrushka stared out wistfully at Tokyo's sprawling, sparkling skyline. The view was gorgeous, the night sky clear and the city across the bay beckoned seductively with its dazzling array of lights. There, over the water, Tokyo whispered promises of expensive brand name clothing, jewelry, accessories, and fine food and wine. Petra could smell and taste the nights full of romance culminating in sensual lovemaking on silk sheets in luxury hotel rooms against the backdrop of what she imagined the skyline of Heaven looked like. She, familiar only with whatever small country towns her targets chose to hide in, had only vaguely _dreamed _of such a place and here, now, it stood closer than ever with open arms.

She slammed a fresh magazine into her Taurus with a bitter violence. Her trance, her fantasies, shattered instantly. Though it broke her heart, she had not come to Tokyo to play. Petrushka turned her back on the city and wandered about the deck of the cargo vessel on which she and the other refugees (plus Robert and his pirates) sought to slip under the radar of the _Satori_. It was a strange repeat of that day only several weeks ago when the Fratelli touched down on Yokohama and ventured, deaf and blind, into the enemy's territory.

Fast-forward a few weeks and the situation was approximately the same, but the game had changed considerably. Any hope of dismantling the _Satori _from the shadows with cold precision and the assassinations of key figures was lost with the list of their competitors. Mere hours after the burning of The Graveyard, Robert had received confirmation from a contact that leaders of hit contracting organizations across Japan were being murdered. Literally overnight the _Satori _had emerged atop this pile of corpses to stand alone as _the _assassination syndicate of Japan. And while Enma's warning still rang fresh in their minds, the Fratelli had a job to do, aided or not by the Japanese underworld. Whether the upcoming mission went well or not, none of the pirates or refugees planned to stay in Japan long enough to reap the reprisals.

As she walked about, Petra observed the players on her team. Rico and Nana looked out over the city together. The former smiled and spoke kindly, while the latter appeared distraught at the kidnapping of her brother. A short distance away, Jean leaned against the guardrail, alone, grim and contemplative. Masaru, Osamu, and Alessandro huddled close together, most likely discussing operational procedure for when their feet hit the ground. Meanwhile, Robert's pirates were scattered around smoking, drinking, joking, and checking their weapons. Robert himself was pacing the deck leisurely while speaking on his phone, presumably to his lineup of shadowy contacts. Eventually he stopped and approached Jean carefully, noticing his solitude. Petra decided not to eavesdrop and left to stare off into the distance once more.

* * *

Jean felt as if his mind had been fractured. He should have been focusing on the upcoming mission, but his conscience dwelled upon Rio's hurt face when he had snapped at her earlier that night. Had he been wrong to do so? She had no chance facing an assassin on her own, but would she have survived the skirmish underground alongside her companions? Was his intent to keep her out of harm's way, or out of his hair? Jean struggled with so many thoughts in his head and each sent him deeper into despair than the last.

"Johnny Boy," Robert interrupted Jean's musings as he approached, "What's eatin' at ya?" Robert turned his back and leaned lazily against the handrail to look out over the deck and survey his men.

"Nothing," Jean growled, his tone finely tuned to warn Robert away without the need to state it explicitly.

"Aw, come on now," Robert chuckled, "I don't care how much of a hardened badass you are, John, that look of yours speaks volumes of your mental state."

Jean sucked his teeth in irritation. "You know damn well what's wrong," he seethed, "And don't you daremake me say it myself."

Robert examined Jean's face from a careful sideways glance. He was still wearing the same hard, analytical expression as always, but there was a bitterness and anguish bubbling up just under the surface.

"John," Robert sighed as he lit up a cigarette and took a long drag, "You've gotta loosen up a little."

Jean very nearly sputtered in disbelief. "A girl _died _because of me," he said, "I promised them freedom and peace of mind. Instead I've led them from one disaster to another."

Robert exhaled a quick stream of smoke and watched it float up and disappear. "See," he replied as if Jean had proven his point, "You're too hard on everyone _including _yourself. I know you're a take-charge kinda guy, but you're not team leader here. I know Masaru and Ricci were both involved in the planning of that operation and I know all three of you came up with and approved of the contingencies."

"What's your point?"

"My point is that if a plan goes wrong, the blame falls on everyone who had a hand in creating it. I promise you Masaru and Ricci ain't pointing fingers at you for what happened to the girl. And in any case, is now really the best time to be doing that?"

Jean paused and thought about this, quickly realizing that Robert was correct. Ever since he arrived in Japan, Jean had been doubting and doing nothing else. His classic surefooted attitude had gotten on the plane with him, but had not disembarked. All he had to work with was his professionalism, and that alone was insufficient.

Robert flicked his cigarette into the bay and said in an observant, understanding tone, "Listen, about that reaction of yours towards that whole…_thing _that happened earlier. I couldn't quite put my finger on it at the time, but it was familiar and I think I got it now. That was a relapse, wasn't it?"

This time Jean did have a response and a classic one at that. "Drop it," he said, keeping his tone and voice just above a snarl.

Robert chuckled and said, "Alright, I understand. We've all got our secrets. I'm sure I've got some that would interest you, for example. Maybe one day we can trade."

He checked his watch and straightened up as he said, "It's almost time to get going so I'm gonna give my boys a once-over to make sure they're ready to go. A word of advice, first, though. That girl of yours, Rico? She's a good kid: loyal, honest, playful, and, most importantly for you, a listener. I know you've gotta lotta baggage, but sometimes the best thing for it is to have someone help you carry it. You watch over her, 'cause you know she's doing the same for you."

Jean nodded thoughtfully and replied quietly, "So I've been told."

"Should've only needed to hear it once, John," Robert said in a way that, for the first time, could be described as sadness. He turned his back then and hollered to round up his men.

Jean stood alone now, but felt uneasy about it. It had been a while since he had allowed himself to be affected by loneliness, but for now he would suppress the feeling as usual and join the others.

* * *

In a matter of minutes, the refugees, Robert and his crew had gathered near the center of the ship's deck to be briefed. Robert began first.

"Several hours ago," he announced loudly to the crowd, "We got word that the _Hanone _were mobilized from Tokyo. Presumably, this is also where the _Aruji _is located and has been giving orders to assassinate strategic figures throughout Japan. I asked around and my contacts tell me they've sighted _Hanone_ in Roppongi Hills."

Alessandro took over from here, "We're still not sure who the _Aruji _is and we don't know what he and the _Hanone _are doing at a shopping center, but if he's there, that's where we'll hit him."

"All we've got are the things we can carry off the ship," Robert continued, "There'll be transport waiting for us outside the harbor. As a bonus, I've managed to weasel a helicopter off the hands of one of my contacts, which I'll use to scout out Roppongi Hills ahead of time. Once I've found out where they're concentrated, you all can begin your assault on the ground."

"It is vital that we win tonight," Masaru spoke up with mounting passion, "The _Satori _are more powerful now than ever before, but that does not change the truth. The truth is that while the beast has many eyes, ears, and claws, it only has one heart. If we remove the heart, the beast dies. If we kill this man, the _Aruji_, we kill the _Satori_. However, if we fail, he will go back underground and even if we survive tonight, tomorrow will forever be an uncertainty."

At this point, Robert addressed his men directly, "Now, we're not gonna be able to conceal all of the equipment we need for this mission. There's no beating the _Satori _at their own game, so we'll have to make them play yours. Sure they have their ninja skills, but y'all are pirates! And what do pirates do?"

"We take!" Robert's men cried and pounded their weapons on the deck once in unison.

"And the stuff we can't take?" Robert raised his voice further.

"We burn!" Robert's men shouted in savage glee.

"And the people who get in our way?" Robert yelled fiercely.

"We kill!" Robert's men hooted, hollered and whooped excitedly, ready to embrace either glory or death equally.

Robert turned to Masaru and laughed, "Didn't mean to steal your thunder there, friend. They just love that speech."

Jean watched as Robert, Masaru and Alessandro proceeded to talk and joke off the pre-operation stress. Meanwhile, he noticed Rico and Nana walking off together. Out of habit, he opened his mouth to call to her commandingly, but he stopped himself. Instead, he approached the girls and said calmly, "Rico."

The little blonde turned, somewhat surprised, yet smiled and greeted Jean with an enthusiastic, "Hello, sir!"

Jean hesitated at first, unsure what to say, then settled on, "Are you feeling alright?"

Rico blinked once and answered, "Yes! But Nana isn't. She's afraid for her brother. Why? Is something wrong?"

"No, nothing's wrong. This is the most important operation we've had and I just wanted to see how you were doing…that's all." Jean thought he sounded like an awkward high school boy talking to a cheerleader.

"I'm fine!" Rico reassured her handler with a smile, "I was just telling Nana about home since we'll be going back soon."

"Oh?" Jean turned his attention to Nana, whom he'd unintentionally left out of the conversation. Her gaze wandered, first off to the side, then down at her feet, then here, next there and so forth. It was clear she was intimidated by Jean and because of this he realized that he could not remember the last time he had interacted with a child who had not been brainwashed or conditioned to behave in a certain way.

"You know," he said in the big brother tone that he hadn't used for years, "I have a brother as well. A younger one. He's in danger, too. Maybe even in more danger than we are."

"Are you worried about him?" Nana's voice sounded nervous and was nearly a whisper.

"Of course," Jean answered, "But he's strong and he's brave."

Nana nodded. "Nobu's brave, too," she said.

"People sometimes say that my brother and I have fire in our eyes. I saw it in Nobu. Tell me more about him…" Jean and the two girls walked off and the conversation continued like this for some time.

Petrushka, who had seen all of this and watched surreptitiously from the corner of her eye, smiled. When she could no longer eavesdrop on the trio, she turned back to Tokyo and to her fantasies.


	22. The Tower

**Chapter 22: The Tower**

Rico shifted in her seat uncomfortably. She was pressed tightly between the corner of the transport vehicle and the tense bicep of a burly pirate. She felt bad for the pirate who had squeezed himself into a space only half his normal size. The pirate seemed not to mind as much, but Rico knew that silence is often mistaken for strength.

"Any news, Robert?" she heard Jean's voice both directly in her ear and somewhere else in the vehicle.

Robert's voice crackled into Rico's radio, "It's crowded down there. This ain't as easy as I hoped it'd be."

"We've almost reached Roppongi Hills," Alessandro warned from his comfortable spot in the passenger's seat.

"We can't just drive circles around the district," Petra chimed in, "We'll attract too much attention."

"Come on, Robert," Jean said with increased urgency, "You don't see anything suspicious?"

"Kinda hard to see anything _at all_ with so many people walking around. If I go any lower I'll be made."

"What if you went higher?" The stressful chatter stopped suddenly. All eyes in the van turned in surprised unison toward Rico, who stared back in confusion.

"Go on, Rico," Jean encouraged her curiously.

She nodded once in affirmation and continued, "When the Chief attends meetings with _Signora _Petris and other politicians, they always have a helicopter waiting to evacuate them in case of emergencies." A short pause ensued as the group processed this information and connected it with their current situation. Then, very suddenly, they understood.

"Rico, you're _brilliant!_" Petra gushed into her radio.

"Hold on," Robert said as his helicopter climbed, "There's only one place that—yup, there it is! A chopper waiting on Mori Tower's helipad. Other'n that, the roof's completely deserted. That's where our man is!"

"Mori Tower?" Alessandro repeated. They had expected to find the _Satori _in an empty office building, not some heavily populated shopping mall.

"That's right," Robert responded resolutely. The group quickly approached their destination and had no time to discuss this whilst on the move.

"Stop the convoy," Jean commanded, hoping to buy some time. The drivers immediately obeyed, but no urgent brainstorming took place. The pirates and refugees sat in their vehicles in silent conflict.

"What's wrong?" Robert asked.

Jean answered, "There's too much at risk here."

"We calling it off?"

No reply came. Everyone knew for a fact that this was not an option. Either they acted tonight, or their target escaped and they would be marked for death. And, of course, they had one of their own to worry about.

"We cannot leave without Nobu," Masaru spoke up, "He must be with the _Aruji; _there is no other reason for the _Hanone _to take him alive other than to use him as insurance."

"Or bait," Robert countered.

"This whole thing _is _most likely a trap," Alessandro conceded, "But I think we all knew that from the beginning. The problem now is the fact that there are noncombatants on the field and we have no way of avoiding collateral damage. For all we know, the _Hanone _are under orders to start killing indiscriminately once they've identified us."

"The _Aruji's _set himself up for an easy checkmate," Jean realized, "Either we walk away and accept defeat or we end up slaughtering dozens of innocent people only to watch our target fly off into the sunrise."

"Even if we _do_ catch the bastard, it'll have been a Pyrrhic victory and we'll likely lose Nobu in the process," Sandro added.

Robert cut in, "Pyrrhic for _you_, maybe. My boys don't have any problems getting their hands dirty. Just say the word, John, and we'll take care of it. No blame on your part."

Communications ceased while everyone waited for Jean to think this over. Masaru and Osamu, of course, were completely against Robert's plan, but knew they had no power to influence him. Alessandro and Petrushka were afraid Jean would accept, as he had always been notorious for his "victory at all costs" attitude. Rico only hoped that Jean would be happy with whatever choice he made.

"No," Jean finally decided, "I'm still responsible for what the hound does with his freedom once I let go of the leash." The other Fratello, Masaru, and Osamu sighed in relief. Rico smiled.

Robert sighed audibly and said half-jokingly, "Can't say I agree, but this wasn't really my fight to begin with. If things go bad I can just sail away and never come back. I got markets around the world, y'know. I didn't have to get involved in all this."

"Just stay for the finale," Jean shot back, "I'll show you how an Italian handles life or death situations."

"You have a plan, then?" Sandro asked hopefully.

"Nothing fancy. Robert's men should stay on standby while the rest of us split up into pairs to better blend in with the crowds. Once we slip through whatever security is watching the outside of the building, we'll regroup and take an elevator to whatever floor the _Aruji _is on."

"Won't they notice if we take an elevator to a floor they've shut down?" Petrushka asked.

"Probably" Jean replied, "But it's too far a climb from the bottom to the top. Besides that, the _Aruji _isn't going to miss any blind spots, stairwells included. We'll have Robert examine the floors from the outside for enemy activity in order to determine which floor to get off at."

"Some of us should continue up to the helipad in order to disable the helicopter," Alessandro suggested.

"The girls can do that. Masaru, Osamu, Ricci and I should be able to handle the target. Rico and Petra, you'll be the last line of defense in case the _Aruji _manages to get past us and heads for his getaway vehicle."

"And Mr. Robert will be the one to extract us?" Masaru asked.

"Sounds good to me," Robert himself answered, "Once the fighting starts, there's no way in hell you'll be able to climb back down the tower. When Rico and Petra give the all-clear from the landing pad I'll land the chopper and wait for the grownups to arrive."

"I have to say, Jean," Sandro said, "I'm surprised to find out that you're a tactician with some tact after all."

"Let's move out," Jean ordered, ignoring the teasing. He could resist replying, but could not resist the little smirk that Alessandro had managed to draw out of him.

* * *

The pairs left the rest of the group in waves: first Masaru and Osamu, for they would blend in best, followed by Jean and Rico then, finally, Sandro and Petra. As they left the dark, cramped vehicles full of stifling body heat, muscle and metal, they stepped into the open air and turned their collars up to ward off the cold. They dissolved into the crowds easily, their body armor and sidearms hidden beneath their long coats.

Somehow, Roppongi Hills turned out to be even brighter and busier than Yokohama, though in this district of this city there were considerably fewer undesirable elements. Hailing from around the world, lovers held hands, children skipped at their parents' sides, businessmen and women sought out souvenirs to bring home from their work-related trips and no one anywhere in this sea of humanity expressed a wish that could not have been granted by crossing the street and walking through the right door. Only six grim faces bobbing about in the water broke the flow of the contented river.

The six operatives navigated the crowds quickly and unnoticed, but approached Mori Tower carefully. The pairs maintained distance between each other and kept communication to a minimum, opting to use gestures and signals instead.

Jean and Rico stuck close to the crowds and advanced the farthest while the others waited well away from the entrance. After scouting for a minute, they retreated, again using groups of people as cover. They came upon a bench and sat down. Jean rubbed his eye tiredly with one hand and tapped the index finger of the other on his seat four times. _Four hostiles sighted._

Masaru nodded into the distance before relaying this quietly to Osamu. _Affirmative._

Alessandro leaned against an advertisement with his arm draped over Petra's shoulders. He touched briefly the letter "M" somewhere near the bottom of the advertisement, then tapped his partner's shoulder twice. _Approach in two-minute intervals._

Jean bounced his fist on his knee as he stood and started for the tower's entrance with Rico. _Moving now. _The first Fratello disappeared once more into the masses. Thirty seconds passed and no shots rang in the night. Nobody screamed at having witnessed a stabbing or watching a young girl break the body of a man twice her size.

"I'm in," Jean's voice came through very suddenly, making Petra and Sandro jump. The latter made sure that Masaru and Osamu were watching before rolling his neck, tilting his head toward the entrance. _You're next. _

The former assassin and soldier waited for the remaining minute-and-a-half to expire before making their approach. They followed Jean's example, delving into the midst of a group of shoppers before attempting to pass the sentries, and several seconds later reported their success to the others.

The remaining Fratello exchanged a confident glance and silent nod before following suit. Alessandro and Petrushka stuck close together, watching people trickle into the tower. The assassins stationed at the entrance were not visible from where they stood. Once a sizable crowd approached, the duo moved alongside it before nudging into the center. Sandro kept his hand on his partner's shoulder as they moved ever closer. The sounds of happy shoppers within the tower came to them as a low murmur now. They passed the pillars and came under the awning. The doors were mere yards away now.

Petrushka looked up and past the many heads of innocent bystanders. She saw a stern man in a black suit, one of the _Satori _sentries, idling by the entrance. Their eyes met. Her heart skipped a beat. She stifled a gasp and looked away as the crowd hid her once more from the _Hanone, _or so she hoped.

The Fratello passed through the doors with the crowd and into the warmth of Mori Tower's hub of shops and restaurants. A quick scan of the area revealed it to be populated solely by noncombatants. They permitted themselves a sigh of relief.

"What happened?" Sandro asked Petra, " You tensed up just then."

"I think one of the sentries saw me," she replied.

"Did you hear that, Jean?" Alessandro spoke through his radio.

Jean answered, "Yes, but it doesn't seem to have raised any alarms. Robert, do you see any unusual activity?"

A slight pause. "Nope," Robert answered freely, "Everything looks normal. Except for the top five floors. Looks like those've been shut down."

"The Mori Arts Center," Masaru clarified.

"Looks like that's where we're headed, then," Jean announced conclusively, "Rendezvous at the elevators. I haven't seen any _Hanone_ here, but approach with caution all the same."

The three pairs made their ways to the elevators separately and reached their destination without a hitch. So far, the security appeared to be lacking. This, however, did not put the operatives at ease. In fact, it did quite the opposite. At best, the _Aruji _had simply decided to group the bulk of his resources in the top five floors of the tower. At worst, this was a sign of an upcoming trap ripe for springing.

Upon reaching the elevators, the team found a group of tourists standing around the area, reading a sign that had been posted above the call buttons.

"This sucks!" a voice exclaimed from within the crowd, "The galleries, city view _and _the roof are closed?"

"The hell is that?" another outraged vacationer spat.

The crowd broke away in clumps, shaking their heads and muttering in discontent. Once they had dissipated completely, Masaru, Osamu and the two Fratelli approached and, after looking around to make sure no one was watching, called an elevator. They waited as one descended all the way from the forty-ninth floor. It reached the bottom with a metallic _ding! _The doors parted to reveal two suited men waiting within. Without a word or eye contact, the six crowded into the elevator, making sure to surround the two _Hanone, _the Fratelli at their sides and the other two at their backs. Jean pressed the button for the forty-ninth floor. The doors closed and the elevator began its ascent.

The assassins had thus far not reacted to the appearance of their targets. This changed very suddenly once they passed the fifth floor. Both reached for their weapons, drawing them violently. They moved in opposite directions, one thrusting his knife at Jean's chest and the other trying to slash anyone within his arm's range of motion.

Jean caught the arm of his attacker while Osamu did the same to the other. On Jean's side, Masaru applied a rear naked choke to the _Hanone _while Rico broke his arm at the elbow and appropriated his weapon in one move, slipping the blade between his ribs with the next.

Simultaneously, Osamu twisted the arm of the other assassin, pinning him to the wall and forcing him to drop his knife. Petra then broke several of his ribs with two quick strikes, followed by a blindingly fast palm uppercut that crumpled her opponent. Just as quickly as it had started, the fight, if it could be called a fight, ended and the elevator was silent again.

Alessandro cleared his throat and said facetiously, having contributed absolutely nothing to the scuffle, "Easy enough."

"Robert," Jean ordered, "Give us an update."

"Nothing's changed, John," Robert reported, "I'm seeing guys in black walking around the closed floors, but I have to keep my distance."

"This is very strange," Masaru said, "We should not have made it so far so easily."

Sandro nodded in agreement, "We're in for a fight, I think, but the _Hanone _don't seem to use firearms, so all we need to do is keep our flanks covered."

"And being this high up means that the roof is the _Aruji's _only way out," Jean added.

"The question is," Osamu said warningly, "Are _we_ cornering _him_, or is _he_ cornering _us_?"

"We will find out soon," Masaru said as the doors opened on the forty-ninth floor. No _Hanone_ greeted them. The adults filed cautiously out of the elevator, dragging the bodies of the two _Hanone _out with them. They drew and armed their pistols and let their coats fall to the floor.

"Go on up to the roof, girls," Sandro said, turning back to Petra and Rico, "Give us an update once you've disabled the helicopter."

"Will do," Petrushka responded with a mock salute.

"Rico," Jean said, "Be careful."

Rico blinked and smiled before replying happily, "You too!"

With their parting words finished, Petrushka sent the elevator up to the roof. She and Rico waited in silence at first. Out of nowhere, Petrushka was overcome by a feeling of dread. She spoke. "Rico," she said, "Are you…scared?"

"Of what?" Rico asked innocently.

"I don't know. I suddenly feel like something's going to happen."

Rico watched Petra's face for a second. Then she answered cheerfully, "Don't worry! Everything's going to be alright!"

Petrushka hesitated to fake relief, thinking that if she tried, she would fail. The feeling of fear would not go away. "Rico…" she trailed off, "Whatever happens…"

"Nothing's going to happen," Rico reassured her friend as the doors opened and the elevator's warmth emptied into the night.

Somebody was standing outside of the elevator, causing Rico and Petra to draw their weapons in surprise. Despite the chill of the night, the skinny, shivering boy was sparsely dressed in an overly large tank top and shorts. His face was swollen and bruised, his eyes dim with fatigue.

"Nobu!" Petrushka called in shock, shifting her aim away from the child.

At this, a surprised face peeked around Nobu's arm. The surprise quickly gave way to glee. "Petra-_chan!_ Rico-_chan!_" Kokoro exclaimed giddily.

She stepped out slightly from behind Nobu, revealing the expensive black rabbit and fox fur coat that she was wearing. "I was expecting the others!" She spoke in flawless Italian.

Rico beamed widely. "Kokoro-_chan!_" she laughed, "I'm glad you're okay!"

"It's good to see you too, Rico," Kokoro responded with a smile. "Now that you're here," her smile turned suddenly sly, "Get in the helicopter." She stepped out further to reveal the sword in her hand, tailored perfectly for her size. The blade gleamed silver in the light of the skyline, the black lacquered grip had been polished to a shine, the pommel shaped into a solid gold heart.

"Now," the _Aruji_ commanded imperially.


	23. The Demon and the Rising Sun

**Chapter 23: The Demon and the Rising Sun**

"Here, isn't this better?" Kokoro asked cheerily once she and her hostages had entered the helicopter and shut the door, "Now we're nice and warm and we can talk freely without any bothersome weapons getting in the way." She waved the tip of her sword in Nobu's face as she spoke to remind the two now unarmed cyborgs that this was not really the case.

"Kokoro," Rico said in sad confusion, "You're…?"

"'Going to kill you?'" Kokoro chirped, "Yes, that's right! But not just yet, so don't worry your pretty little head over it! I'm going to wait until I'm clear of this tower first."

Rico paused, bewildered by the complete transformation that her friend seemed to have undergone. "That's not what I was going to say…" she said meekly.

Kokoro giggled at this. "Ah, Rico, you're so _dim!_ It's really quite adorable."

Petrushka ground her teeth and clenched her fists, but tried to invoke her training. _Observe and exploit, _she commanded herself. She looked around the inside of the helicopter. It was full of expensive handbags and fine clothing: blouses, dresses, skirts, coats, hats, gloves, and jewelry inlaid with flawless gems. This was a treasure hoard fit for any classical dragon. It would be no surprise for Petra if, after digging through the piles of designer products, she should find bars of gold and uncut diamonds at the bottom.

"For now," Kokoro continued without giving Rico any sort of explanation, "Why don't we have a nice Q and A? We might as well, since we could be stuck here for a while if your handlers decide they don't feel like dying right away. Let's check on them now, shall we?" She pulled a small radio from the pocket of her jacket and turned it on. Immediately, the confined space filled with yelling and gunfire, with the sounds of men struggling bitterly to survive against wave after wave of killers. Kokoro shut the radio off and the inside of the helicopter snapped back into silence.

"Sounds like they're having a good time," she said cheefully, "So, why don't we get started now? I'm sure you're both just filled to bursting with questions! Oh, and from this point on, I kindly request that you refer to me as '_Aruji-sama_.' _É__ chiaro? _'Kokoro' is a pseudonym, anyway."

Petrushka narrowed her eyes and stated grimly, "It looks like you've been busy – _Aruji-sama_. What have you been up to?" She briefly entertained the idea of defying her hostess' last order, but decided that the point of her sword was already dangerously animated and dangerously close to Nobu's throat.

The _Aruji's_ head did not move, but her eyes slid slyly to peek at Petra from their corners. Though she smiled, there was something poisonous in this look. "Now, now, Petrushka," she said softly, "That attitude of yours won't do." She played absentmindedly with her sword, using it to lightly draw circles upon Nobu's bruised face. The boy flinched in pain and shied away from the blade.

"I'm sorry if you found my tone impudent, _Aruji-sama_," Petrushka apologized without sounding at all sincere, "And I'm sorry if I make any presumptions about the no-doubt trying role of your station. However, if I didn't know any better, I'd say that you've just been on a shopping spree."

The_ Aruji_ feigned surprise as she pushed a Prada shopping bag around with her foot. "My, it must have taken _all _of your deductive capacity to come to that conclusion. _Signore _Ricci has taught you well."

Petra glared. She examined the _Aruji's_ face carefully. Upon its features she saw arrogance and pride. The glint in her eyes spoke of her mischief, her malice, her madness. As long as she had the advantage, the _Aruji_ was unshakeable. Petrushka had taken special note of her reaction to insolence: when her victims trembled in fear, she bore herself with the majesty of a queen; when her authority was questioned, she became petty, threatening violence. Her pride would act as a fuse and each time Petrushka jabbed at it, it would burn down just a little bit more. The conversation suddenly seemed a blank, open field mined with the _Aruji's _pride, vanity, and need for dominance. Careful treading would be absolutely essential.

The _Aruji_ noticed the observing stare and smirked. "Trying to find something out about me?" she asked, "Trying to find out what my favorite food is by identifying the sauce I spilled on my boots? Well let me save you the trouble: it's mackerel. I don't care how it's prepared, I just _love _how oily the meat is."

"_Dio mio_, you're irritating," Petrushka said through gritted teeth, hoping she wasn't pushing it.

The _Aruji_ laughed and replied, "Well _excuse me!_ I'm just trying to entertain my guests! For your information, my men find me very funny. I personally believe that, if you can help it, you should die laughing."

At this point Rico had been quiet long enough. "Why are you doing this?" she cried out, "Aren't we your friends?"

The _Aruji_ sighed and shook her head as a mother would after catching her child scrawling a particularly funny drawing on the wall. "I suppose this is the part of the interview where I bear all for you to see. Nobu here has already heard this story, but maybe he'll find it better the second time in a different language."

She paused, thinking about how to begin. "As I sincerely hope you've realized already," she started, "I was never in any danger of being killed by the _Satori_. I _had _been 'rescued' by Masaru and his lot not long before you arrived from Italy, but my presence at the library was far from coincidental. I had intentionally put myself in that situation and had the cell I was with provoke Masaru into action, knowing that he would be the likeliest of allies once you arrived in Yokohama."

"How could you have orchestrated that?" Petra asked, grudgingly impressed by the _Aruji's_ preparation, "We left Italy the day after we were briefed on our operation."

"Yes, but operations take time to plan," she answered, delighted to have the attention and respect that she believed she deserved, "And the mole I have in your Agency was quite heavily involved in the planning stages of Operation Far-Flung.

"Now, I'm not so naïve as to believe that the _Satori _would pledge its loyalty to me after a simple act of patricide. Especially considering the fact that it was a messy affair and required the use of poison, a knife, _and _a gun! I would never have guessed my father would be so stubborn. Then again, that _is _why I killed him in the first place; he stubbornly refused to be involved with Padania, despite all of my encouragement, so I took over and performed the transactions myself. And just as I suspected, our partnership with the Republican Faction proved to be _ludicrously _profitable."

The _Aruji _gazed blankly into space, lost in the thought of her newfound wealth. She shook herself back to reality. "I apologize for the digression, but I'm sure that information was relevant to your interests. Anyway, with my best and brightest overseas, I needed to prove my worth to the rest as the master deceiver and unrivaled manipulator. I decided to show them that I could look into the eyes of those who wished me dead and fool them into believing that I was an innocent victim. More than that, however, I needed to demonstrate that the _Satori _would only become stronger under my rule."

"So you _led_ us to The Graveyard!" Rico exclaimed as she began to catch up.

"Precisely," the _Aruji_ responded, "I gave you a list of my competitors and pushed you along to Enma. Admittedly, my plans stuttered there a bit; I originally hoped to accompany you and Ricci to see Enma, hold onto the list, and then disappear. However, when you sent me to gather information on your intelligence leak instead, my men resorted to Plan B. I took the first opportunity that came to break away from the group, killed Naoki (I dumped him in the sewer's canal, in case you were wondering), and made it to the surface to signal the beginning of the attack."

"And once you had the list, the gloves came off and the game began for real," Petrushka summarized, referring to the burning of The Graveyard, Rio's death and the attack on the warehouse.

"And now you're here!" the _Aruji_ finished happily, "I have to admit, there were some variables that I failed to take into account. I never expected you would be able to capture one of my own, for example, but he was so low on the ladder that all he knew of the _Aruji _was what he had heard from the legends. It was easy to convince him that I was some sort of demon god and that if he swallowed his own tongue he would have a place at my side in the afterlife. That pirate friend of yours, on the other hand, has proven to be a _real _nuisance. That's alright, though. I'll just blow up his boat once this business is concluded." She reached into her pocket for her radio. Petrushka saw her chance.

She sprang forward, grabbing the _Aruji's _wrists, trapping one hand in the coat pocket and pinning the other to the seat to keep her from using her sword. "Rico!" Petra shouted, "Get-" Her orders were cut short as her (quite flexible) opponent sent the heel of her foot straight up into the bottom of her chin, causing her to loosen her grip.

The _Aruji _placed her foot on the wound Petrushka had sustained at The Graveyard and pushed fiercely, knocking her back in her seat. Rico attacked next, but her reluctance was evident and therefore her strikes were easily deflected. However the inside of the helicopter was too confined a space for the _Aruji _to properly use her sword. She could not exploit any of the openings she created during the fight.

The _Aruji _reversed the grip on her weapon and slammed the pommel into Rico's temple, opening the door of the helicopter as she did so and causing Rico to tumble out onto the helipad. The _Aruji _jumped out into the open and prepared to deliver the _coup de grâce_ when Petra came flying out of the vehicle, taking her to the ground.

Petrushka straddled her former friend and brought her fist down towards her face, but hit only concrete that cracked under her knuckles as the _Aruji _dodged the blow; she clasped her hands around the back of Petra's head and pulled her close in a clinch, at the same time slipping her legs out from underneath the cyborg's body and kicking her over her head and onto her back. The _Aruji _jumped to her feet, fled, and leapt over the railing, off of the helipad and onto the level below.

Both cyborgs were up again in an instant and followed immediately. Rico picked up the dropped sword as she rose. When they hit the ground on the level below, they scanned the area but could not find their opponent. Cautiously, they ventured into the darkness of the space underneath the helipad.

"Take point, Rico," Petrushka said softly, "I've got your six."

Rico obeyed and took the lead, keeping the sword in front of her. They moved slowly and made sure not to skip over any corners, lest they be ambushed from one.

"That's _not _how you defuse a hostage situation," the _Aruji _called from the shadows. Rico and Petra looked about, suddenly alert but unable to pinpoint their target's exact location.

Petrushka decided that now was the time to exploit the _Aruji's _pride. "It wouldn't have come to this if you were any proper sort of hostage taker."

At this, Petra thought she heard the shuffling of feet behind her, so she whirled around. No attack came. She continued, "In fact, if you were any sort of proper leader, we would've been dead as soon as we stepped out of the plane. Instead you came up with some convoluted plan that got dozens of your men killed solely because you had something to prove."

"This whole thing's been nothing but a test for me," the _Aruji _replied, audibly incensed, "Don't flatter yourself into thinking you're my nemeses. You're just stepping stones on my way to immortality." Again her voice seemed to come from several directions all at once.

"Rico," Petra whispered, "Get us back out into the light." Then, to the _Aruji_, she scoffed, "'Immortality?' Please. You're just a little girl who thought she could run Daddy's business better than he could."

They were getting close to the open again. A few more meters and they would have the advantage. "Granted," Petrushka went on, "Most little girls don't kill their fathers, but you're _clearly_ very sick."

"My men will remember me as the woman who unchained the _Satori, _pointed to the ocean, and unleashed it onto the world!" The _Aruji _was yelling now, making the ubiquity of her voice terrifying. The two cyborgs needed to get out from under the helipad soon, for their target was on the verge of violence.

"Maybe your father was right to refuse the partnership with Padania," Petra said in a less provocative tone, "Because he knew that somewhere in the world there's a force that he wouldn't have been able to overcome." They were just about there now.

"Maybe he knew that, if he were to make a deal with the Republican Faction, he would then have to contend," Rico and Petra took their first steps into the light, "With us."

They turned away from the ledge in front of them and back to the darkness that protected their target. All was silent, save for the wind. "So," Petrushka asked with finality, "Why don't we show you what Daddy was so afraid of, eh Kokoro?"

Their target immediately burst out from the darkness, a child of shadows materializing from her natural element. Her face contorted in silent rage. She flowed easily under and around Petrushka's blows, countering with well-placed strikes to the eyes, the throat, the solar plexus. None of her attacks were particularly strong, but she hit weak points with laser precision and in quick succession and so was able to pummel Petra to the ground in a matter of seconds.

Rico thrust the sword at Kokoro, aiming for her stomach, but she sidestepped and retaliated with a wild throwaway backfist that hardly fazed the cyborg, yet allowed Kokoro to assume a defensive position.

Rico locked eyes with her opponent and stepped before Petrushka, intending to protect her while she regained her footing. She had never wielded a single-edged sword before but, just like Kokoro, Rico herself was a natural weapon. She opened with a horizontal slash, a diagonal swipe and a powerful thrust. All of these were dodged with ease, despite the fact that Kokoro's rage had made her movements erratic.

Rico attempted a backwards slash, but her opponent blocked this with her bare hands. She had tried to use the dull edge of the blade. Kokoro moved in instantly and began her assault on Rico's weak spots, dropping her to her knees by attacking her wounded leg. Rico pushed her opponent away with a wild punch that connected and broke a rib, forcing Kokoro to jump back and clutch her side in pain.

All of the combatants were on their feet now. Though Petrushka's pain and the pain in Rico's leg disappeared quickly, Kokoro's broken rib had tempered her anger and her lack of weaponry meant that she was completely outclassed now. Rico approached the injured girl with the intent to finish her off. She raised the sword up, looked her target in the eye, and said in complete earnestness, "_Gomen_, Kokoro-_chan_." She hesitated.

"Do it, Rico!" Petra urged her friend, wanting desperately to end the fight.

Rico paused for only an instant longer. Then she brought the blade down.

Kokoro stepped forward, raising her hands up to catch Rico's wrist mid-swing, using the arc of the attack to force her arm around her back. From this position, she was able to wrestle the sword back into her possession.

Rico felt the point of the blade cut through her back and slip past her ribs. She gasped in agony as it swam through her insides and watched as the silver head emerge from her stomach. It slid forward and up and stopped before Rico's eyes.

"_No!_" Petrushka screamed as she rushed forward.

Kokoro tugged on the blade imbedded in Rico's body, turning her around so that she could use her as a human shield. Petra stopped dead in her tracks. She watched Rico's face, which crinkled in pain, indicating that she was still alive. Kokoro hid behind her, and behind Kokoro there was nothing but the ledge, the skyline and a two hundred meter drop to the sidewalk.

Rico pushed weakly, grunting as she took a single heavy step backwards. Then she took another. And another. She inched closer and closer to the edge and though Kokoro pushed back violently, her strength was no match for that of the cyborg, regardless of how weak she had become.

"Stop!" Kokoro grunted, beginning to fear for her life.

Rico stopped, having spent the last of her strength. She thought of Jean. She was not sure whether or not he still lived, though if not she knew that he had died thinking of her. She owed her life, her body to him. Every morning when she woke, Rico had only Jean to thank for the delight she felt at being able to rise from bed. And now, when they needed each other most, they had been separated and Rico's body had again become useless. She did not want a life without a functional body, nor would she live a life without Jean. She gathered her strength, commanded her body to move. It did.

Petrushka ran forward desperately as Rico took the last few steps and threw herself and Kokoro off the edge of the roof. Petra dove, hand outstretched, closed her eyes and then her hand, praying that her fingers would wrap around flesh and bone. It did.

She gasped in surprise and then looked over the edge. Petrushka had managed to grab onto Rico's hand, but it was limp and cold and Rico dangled inanimately, either half-conscious or not at all. She was oddly heavy.

A hand appeared from below Rico, grabbed onto her coat and pulled the rest of Kokoro upwards. She looked up and Petra saw the madness in her eyes. It was clear that Kokoro had completely lost control of herself. Petrushka would have fought her off, but her other hand was braced against the edge of the building to keep her from falling with the other two.

Kokoro continued to climb over Rico as Petrushka began to pull both of them back onto the roof. Kokoro reached Rico's shoulders and clasped onto Petra's forearm, at the same time reaching down and pulling the sword out of Rico, who gasped as the blade passed through her body again in reverse. Kokoro leveled the point at Petrushka's throat and began laughing madly as her arm tensed in preparation for its final murderous act.

Two gunshots exploded in the night. Kokoro's head was thrown back by the force of the bullet and Petrushka felt the girl's grip loosen in death. She leaned back and fell, still smiling, through fifty-four floors of cold space.

Petrushka pulled Rico up onto the roof and laid on her back, exhausted. She looked up and saw Jean standing over her, his gun still smoking. His face, in fact his whole body, was covered in cuts and blood. A tourniquet had been tied around his left wrist, for his left hand was missing. Despite this, he retained his calm and quiet ferocity.

Petra jumped to her feet. "You have to see to her!" she said in a rush, gesturing to Rico. She moved for the stairs to the helipad then stopped and turned to Jean. "Sandro. Is-is he…?"

"He's fine," Jean said curtly as he bent down to examine Rico.

"Do you need me to-"

"Just go see Sandro. He needs to know that you're okay." Jean never took his eyes off Rico's face, save to inspect the terrible wound in her torso. "We'll be with you in a minute," he said sounding less than certain.

Petrushka hesitated for another second. She considered staying to console Jean. But maybe that would only make him angry. She turned and left without another word, leaving the man alone with his thoughts.

When Petra had left, Jean got down on his knees and lifted Rico's head to let it rest in the crook of his handless arm, being careful not to bloody her. He brushed her hair from her eyes and watched her face for a moment in silence. She appeared to be peacefully asleep, satisfied as only those who take control of their destinies can be.

"Rico," Jean spoke softly, "God knows that I've wronged you in every imaginable way. And I know now that I will never be able to repay you for everything you've done and offered to do. However, if you let me, I promise I will dedicate the rest of our time together _trying_ to do so."

Jean continued to watch Rico's face for any sign of life. There was none. "Because I know," Jean continued, "Everything about what you're capable of. I know you, Rico, and I know that you can pull through this. But I'm not going to order you to do that. I want you to decide for yourself." He watched. And waited. And still nothing happened.

* * *

Alessandro held Petrushka's hand, their fingers intertwined. The latter rested her head on her partner's arm. They awaited the arrival of Robert's helicopter.

When she had come back up to the helipad, Petra found Sandro and Masaru securing Kokoro's helicopter. The latter saw to Nobu, making sure he was still in one piece. When Sandro saw Petra, he had rushed to meet her.

They embraced warmly, each glad that the other had survived their respective ordeals. When the two cyborgs failed to report the disabling of the helicopter, the men inside knew immediately that something had gone wrong. They had attempted to use the elevators to get to the roof, but they had been shut down so they had no choice but to fight their way up.

Alessandro held Petra's face in his hands and gave her a long, tender kiss. When they had finished, Petrushka took a step back and examined her partner.

"Dammit, Sandro, you're a mess!" she said, laughing only to hold back the tears. What she had observed was true, however. Like Jean, Alessandro was covered in cuts and bruises, some of them serious on their own.

"We can't all look as good as you," Sandro shot back with another, briefer kiss. He looked up and around as if searching for someone. "Where's Rico?" he asked. At this, Petra bowed her head.

"Oh, God no," Alessandro said mourningly, shaking his head, "How did it happen?"

Petrushka told him the story, which moved the Fratello to tears. Several minutes later they were standing and waiting for Robert. They had wiped the tears from their eyes. The helicopter arrived and they all shuffled quietly inside to get out of the cold. The vehicle lifted off the helipad.

They flew in silence, heading east. It had been a long, tiring night. The relief of accomplishing their main objective would come later. For now, the passengers were glad that they had an opportunity to rest.

Jean stared out the window in deep thought. He felt the weight on his arm shift slightly, heard a yawn and a voice mumble sleepily, "_Buongiorno, _Jean."

Jean smiled and pulled Rico close to keep her warm as she slept. Then he looked outside, ahead of the helicopter, and saw that she was right. The sun had begun to rise, turning the sky on the horizon pink and the sky above light blue while only the sky behind them remained dark. There the darkness would stay.

_Fin_


End file.
